


Warriors: Rewritten - Into the Wild

by FatalBlow



Series: Warriors: Rewritten [2]
Category: Warriors - Erin Hunter
Genre: Canon Rewrite, Gen, Not In My House, Rewrite, also redtail is trans and gay and firepaw's mentor, and also makes the hurt so so good, and ravenpaw stays because how DARE you shaft my son, because it makes SO MUCH more narrative sense, greystripe isn't a dumb asshole, i don't hate the realism rewrites but i wanted something a lil different, it's warriors but i ramped up the fantasy, it's warriors but i will never get over the potential the series had, it's warriors but i'm mad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-29
Updated: 2020-08-25
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:47:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 32
Words: 66,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25566121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FatalBlow/pseuds/FatalBlow
Summary: Rusty's always heard the call of the forest, but today he feels it especially strongly.  Braving his friend Smudge's warnings about the sins of ferals, he ventures in...and discovers the world of the warrior cats.  The moment he gets a taste of Thunderclan, a society of cats who not just live but thrive in the forest, he wants nothing but to know more and more.He's inducted into the clan and renamed Firepaw according to their traditions, and soon learns all he can and more about the world of the four clans in the forest.  The new life he's chosen is neither peaceful nor forthright, though.  War brews on two fronts and the secrets of the forest whisper to Firepaw louder than ever before.  Ever the nosy one, Firepaw can't help but to answer that call.
Relationships: Firestar & Graystripe & Ravenpaw (Warriors), Firestar & Graystripe (Warriors), Firestar & Ravenpaw (Warriors), Firestar & Redtail (Warriors), Firestar & Yellowfang (Warriors), Redtail/Runningwind (Warriors)
Series: Warriors: Rewritten [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1887265
Comments: 211
Kudos: 122





	1. Allegiances

**Author's Note:**

> Like I said in the tags, this is a rewrite of Warriors because I am very angry but I love this series too much to do nothing about it. It's a more fantastical rewrite than most of the ones I've seen flying around--not that I don't enjoy those, but sprinkling in that little bit of magic and worldbuilding really scratches an itch of mine. 
> 
> While this is very much a for-fun project, comments are appreciated! Please scream at me about what I'm doing right!

**ALLEGIANCES**

**THUNDERCLAN (25)**

**Leader**

> Bluestar – blue-grey molly with blue-green eyes, a grey muzzle, and a deep scar across one shoulder  
> Child: Mossflower  
> Grandchildren: Greypaw, Cinderkit, Swiftkit

**Deputy**

> Redtail – tortoiseshell and white trans-tom with a mostly red tail and pale green eyes  
> Mate: Swiftstep  
> Siblings: Willowpelt, Spottedleaf  
> Children: Sandpaw

**Healer**

> Spottedleaf – dark tortoiseshell molly with amber eyes and white on her paws  
> Siblings: Willowpelt, Redtail

**Warriors**

> Speckletail – large golden tabby molly with white front paws  
> Children: Lionheart, Goldenflower
> 
> Fuzzypelt – longhaired black tom with yellow eyes  
> Parents: Patchpelt  
> Mate: Robinwing (ex)  
> Children: Lizardtail, Ravenpaw, Dustpaw
> 
> Robinwing – large brown tabby molly; former rogue  
> Mate: Fuzzpelt (ex)  
> Children: Lizardtail, Ravenpaw, Dustpaw
> 
> Whitestorm – white tom with grey tabby points and blue eyes  
> Mate: Willowpelt  
> Adopted siblings: Frostfur, Brindleface  
>  Apprentice, Ravenpaw
> 
> Brindleface – silver tabby and white molly  
> Siblings: Whitestorm (adopted), Frostfur  
> Parents: Smallear
> 
> Tigerclaw – dark brown tabby with vivid amber eyes  
> Mate: Goldenflower  
> Half-siblings: Darkstripe  
>  Apprentice, Dustpaw
> 
> Lionheart – large golden tabby with yellow eyes and a white chest  
> Mate: Frostfur  
> Sibling: Goldenflower  
>  Apprentice, Greypaw
> 
> Goldenflower – ginger tabby molly with green eyes  
> Mate: Tigerclaw  
> Sibling: Lionheart
> 
> Willowpelt – dilute tortoiseshell molly with green eyes  
> Mate: Whitestorm  
> Siblings: Spottedleaf, Redtail
> 
> Swiftstep – pale brown tabby tom (p. Runningwind)  
> Parents: One-eye, Halftail  
> Mate: Redtail  
> Daughter: Sandpaw  
> Sister: Mousefur
> 
> Mousefur – brown ticked tabby molly  
> Parents: One-eye, Halftail  
> Brother: Swiftstep
> 
> Darkstripe – small black and grey tabby tom with a round face; very distinctive kittypet or Shadowclan traits  
> Half-sibling: Tigerclaw
> 
> Lizardtail – pale cinnamon tabby with almost brown eyes (p. Longtail)  
> Parents: Robinwing, Fuzzypelt  
> Siblings: Ravenpaw, Dustpaw

**Apprentices**

> Sandpaw – fawn torbie molly, mostly ginger  
> Parents: Redtail, Swiftstep
> 
> Dustpaw – large brown tabby tom  
> Parents: Fuzzypelt, Robinwing  
> Siblings: Lizardtail, Ravenpaw
> 
> Ravenpaw – skinny black tom with hints of white  
> Parents: Fuzzypelt, Robinwing  
> Siblings: Dustpaw, Lizardtail
> 
> Greypaw – grey ticked longhaired tabby tom with yellow eyes  
> Grandparents: Bluestar  
> Parents: Mossflower  
> Siblings: Cinderkit, Swiftkit
> 
> Firepaw – small Somali tom with vivid green eyes  
> Sister: Princess

**Queens**

> Frostfur – pregnant all white molly with bright blue eyes  
> Mate: Lionheart  
> Siblings: Whitestorm, Brindleface
> 
> Mossflower – ticked grey tabby molly with yellow eyes  
> Mother of Cinderkit (grey molly) and Swiftkit (black and white tom) (3 moons)  
> Parents: Bluestar  
> Mates: ???  
> Children: Greypaw, Cinderkit, Swiftkit

**Elders**

> One-eye – pale grey marble and white tabby molly, missing an eye and blind in the other  
> Mate: Halftail  
> Children: Swiftstep, Mousefur
> 
> Halftail – dark brown tabby tom with amber eyes  
> Mate: One-eye  
> Children: Swiftstep, Mousefur
> 
> Smallear – small grey tom  
> Children: Frostfur, Brindleface

**SHADOWCLAN (34)**

**Leader**

> Raggedstar – Massive dark brown molly with yellow eyes  
> Mate: Yellowfang  
> Brother: Scorchwind  
> Adopted son: Brokentail

**Deputy**

> Brokentail – Large ginger tabby tom with a kinked tail  
> Adopted mother: Raggedstar

**Healers**

> Yellowfang – Dark grey molly  
> Mate: Raggedstar  
> Parents: Brightflower, Brackenfoot  
> Siblings: Rowanberry, Nutwhisker
> 
> Cloudpelt – Grey tom with patches of white; also known as Runningnose  
> Sisters: Tangleburr, Deerfoot

**Warriors**

> Scorchwind – Brown ticked tabby tom  
> Sister: Raggedstar  
> Mate: Nutwhisker
> 
> Rowanberry – Brown tortoiseshell molly  
> Parents: Brightflower, Brackenfoot  
> Sister: Yellowfang  
> Children: Fernshade, Flintfang
> 
> Nutwhisker – Brown tom  
> Mate: Scorchwind  
> Parents: Brackenfoot, Brightflower  
> Siblings: Yellowfang, Rowanberry
> 
> Applefur – mottled brown molly; former rogue  
> Mate: Tangleburr
> 
> Lizardstripe – Dark brown molly  
> Children: Cloudpelt, Tangleburr, Deerfoot
> 
> Rockpelt – Grey tabby tom with green eyes; formerly a rogue (p. Boulder)
> 
> Wolfstep – Dark grey tabby tom with small bits of white  
> Siblings: Pinecry, Duskfur  
> Mate: Fernshade  
> Children: Whitekit, Badgerkit
> 
> Pinecry – Dark blue-grey tom (p. Frogtail)  
> Siblings: Wolfstep, Duskfur
> 
> Tangleburr – Pale brown and white molly  
> Mate: Applefur  
> Siblings: Runningnose, Deerfoot
> 
> Flintfang – Grey smoke tom; adopted as a kit  
> Adopted mother: Rowanberry  
> Siblings: Fernshade
> 
> Clawedface – Brown tabby tom with vicious scars on his face; formerly a rogue (p. Clawface)  
> Mates: Stumptail, Deerfoot
> 
> Stumptail – Brown marble tabby tom who lost his tail; formerly a rogue (p. Stumpytail)  
> Mates: Clawedface, Deerfoot
> 
> Deerfoot – Calico molly  
> Siblings: Tangleburr, Runningnose  
> Mates: Stumptail, Clawedface
> 
> Blackfoot – Black smoke tom with polydactyl toes; formerly a rogue  
> Sibling: Russetfur
> 
> Russetfur – Dark ginger molly; formerly a rogue  
> Sibling: Blackfoot

**Apprentices**

> Littlepaw– Small, pale brown tabby with a white chest and face marking
> 
> Parents: Deerfoot, Clawedface, Stumptail  
> Siblings: Webpaw, Palepaw
> 
> Palepaw – Tall, light brown she-cat (p. Tallpoppy)  
> Parents: Deerfoot, Clawface, Stumptail  
> Brothers: Webpaw, Littlepaw
> 
> Webpaw – Brown tabby with white paws (p. Wetfoot)  
> Parents: Rowanberry, Clawedface  
> Siblings: Littlepaw, Palepaw
> 
> Brownpaw – Brown tabby with large white markings  
> Siblings: Dawnpaw
> 
> Dawnpaw – Cream coloured molly with white markings  
> Sibling: Brownpaw

**Queens**

> Duskfur – Dark tabby molly (p. Darkflower)  
> Mother of Oakkit and Snowkit  
> Mate: ???  
> Siblings: Wolfstep, Pinecry
> 
> Fernshade – Tortoiseshell smoke molly; adopted as a kit  
> Mother of Badgerkit and Whitekit  
> Mate: Wolfstep  
> Adopted mother: Rowanberry  
> Siblings: Flintfang

**Elders**

> Cinderfur – Mottled grey tabby tom; became an elder early due to past illness
> 
> Lightcloud – Light grey torbie and white molly; became an elder early due to past illness (Poolcloud)  
> Sister: Newtspeck
> 
> Brackenfoot – Ginger point tom  
> Mate: Brightflower  
> Children: Yellowfang, Rowanberry, Nutwhisker
> 
> Brightflower – Ginger and grey tortoiseshell molly  
> Mate: Brackenfoot  
> Children: Yellowfang, Rowanberry, Nutwhisker
> 
> Newtspeck – Torbie molly; became an elder early due to past illness  
> Sibling: Lightcloud
> 
> Nightpelt – Old black tom with salt and pepper fur  
> Children: Duskfur, Wolfstep, Pinecry  
> G.Children: Oakkit, Snowkit

**RIVERCLAN (27)**

**Leader**

> Crookedstar – Huge, pale tabby tom with a twisted jaw and a white chest, belly, and paws  
> Brother: Oakheart  
> Apprentice, Silverpaw

**Deputy**

> Oakheart – Brown tabby tom with white paws, chest, and a white mark on his nose and toes  
> Mate: Bluestar  
> Children: Stonefur, Mistfoot

**Healer**

> Mudfur – Brown and white tom

**Warriors**

> Whitefang – Old white tom with brown tabby points; former rogue  
> Apprentice, Leopardpaw
> 
> Mallownose – Brown and white tom  
> Sister: Ivytail  
> Mate: Swanflower  
> Children: Reedtail, Sedgecreek, Pinekit, Shellkit
> 
> Ivytail – Brown mackerel tabby molly  
> Brother: Mallownose
> 
> Mistfoot – Blue-grey molly with a white chin  
> Mate: Blackclaw  
> Parents: Oakheart  
> Uncle: Crookedstar  
> Siblings: Stonefur  
> Apprentice, Mosspaw
> 
> Stonefur – Grey tom with white toes and shredded ears  
> Mate: Rippleclaw  
> Parents: Oakheart, Bluestar  
> Uncle: Crookedstar  
> Siblings: Mistfoot  
> Apprentice, Shadepaw
> 
> Rippleclaw – Black and silver classic tabby tom  
> Mate: Stonefur
> 
> Blackclaw – Black smoke tom with random white markings in his pelt  
> Mate: Mistfoot  
> Parents: Pikefoot  
> Sister: Skyheart  
> Nephews: Pebblepaw, Beechpaw  
> Apprentice, Pebblepaw
> 
> Skyheart – Brown smoke molly  
> Mate: Voleclaw  
> Parents: Pikefoot  
> Brother: Blackclaw  
> Children: Pebblepaw, Beechpaw
> 
> Swallowtail – Black smoke molly  
> Parents: Echomist  
> Sister: Voleclaw  
> Mate: Sedgecreek
> 
> Voleclaw – Grey tabby smoke tom with hazel eyes  
> Mate: Skyheart  
> Parents: Echomist  
> Sister: Swallowtail  
> Children: Pebblepaw, Beechpaw
> 
> Sedgecreek – Almost all white molly with torbie patches  
> Parents: Swanflower, Mallownose  
> Siblings: Pinekit, Shellkit, Reedtail  
> Mate: Swallowtail
> 
> Reedtail – Almost all white tom with ginger patches  
> Mother: Swanflower, Mallownose  
> Siblings: Pinekit, Shellkit, Reedtail
> 
> Iceclaw – White tom with grey ears and tail (p. Whiteclaw)  
> Mate: Sunfish  
> Adopted daughters: Mosspaw, Shadepaw
> 
> Sunfish – Tortoiseshell and white molly  
> Mate: Unknown kittypet  
> Adopted Daughters: Shadepaw, Mosspaw  
> Apprentice, Beechpaw

**Apprentices**

> Silverpaw – Silver Bengal molly with green eyes and a white chest; former loner  
> Sister: Leopardpaw
> 
> Leopardpaw – Golden Bengal molly with white paws; former loner  
> Sister: Silverpaw
> 
> Mosspaw – Calico and white molly  
> Parents: Sunfish, Iceclaw  
> Sibling: Shadepaw
> 
> Shadepaw – Black molly  
> Parents: Sunfish, Iceclaw  
> Sibling: Mosspaw
> 
> Pebblepaw – Spotted grey tabby tom  
> Parents: Skyheart, Voleclaw  
> Brother: Beechpaw
> 
> Beechpaw – Brown and white tabby tom  
> Parents: Skyheart, Voleclaw  
> Brother: Pebblepaw

**Queens**

> Swanflower – Almost all white molly with ginger markings  
> Mother of Pinekit (p. Loudbelly) and Shellkit (p. Heavystep)  
> Mate: Mallownose  
> Children: Sedgecreek, Reedtail

**Elders**

> Echomist – Silver smoke molly with green eyes  
> Mate: Hailstar  
> Children: Voleclaw, Swallowtail
> 
> Piketooth – Skinny, all brown tom with protruding canines; former rogue  
> Children: Blackclaw, Skyheart
> 
> Greypool – Forgetful grey and white molly

**WINDCLAN (27)**

**Leader**

> Breezestar – Black and white tom with a very long tail (p. Tallstar)  
> Half-sister: Flytail

**Deputy**

> Deadfoot – Black tom with a twisted front left paw  
> Mate: Ashfoot  
> Children: Robinkit, Woolkit  
> Sister: Sorrelspot

**Healer**

> Barkface – Brown tom with faint tabby markings and a short tail  
> Nephews: Mudclaw, Tornear

**Warriors**

> Cinderface – Mottled grey tom  
> Mate: Pigeonspot  
> Children: Swiftkit, Dewkit
> 
> Harefur – Ginger tom with a white chest and front paws  
> Mate: Flytail  
> Children: Whitepaw, Sunpaw
> 
> Flytail – silver tabby and white molly  
> Half-brother: Breezestar  
> Mate: Harefur  
> Children: Whitepaw, Sunpaw
> 
> Antpelt – Rusted black tom  
> Mate: Tornears
> 
> Mudclaw – Mottled brown tom  
> Brother: Tornears  
> Mate: Morningflower
> 
> Tornears – Pale grey tom with stubs for ears  
> Brother: Mudclaw  
> Mate: Antpelt
> 
> Stagleap – Brown tabby tom  
> Sibling: Doespring  
> Children: Buzzardtail, Wrenpaw, Owlpaw
> 
> Doespring – Light brown molly  
> Sibling: Stagleap
> 
> Buzzardtail – Light brown tabby tom  
> Parents: Stagleap  
> Brothers: Wrenpaw, Owlpaw
> 
> Shrewfoot – Brownish grey tom (p. Webfoot)  
> Brother: Thrushtail
> 
> Thrushtail – Light grey-brown tabby tom (p. Rushtail)  
> Brother: Shrewfoot

**Apprentices**

> Wrenpaw – Skinny brown tabby tom with a white chest and paws (p. Onewhisker)  
> Parents: Stagleap  
> Brothers: Owlpaw, Buzzardtail
> 
> Owlpaw – Light brown tabby tom  
> Brothers: Wrenpaw, Buzzardtail
> 
> Sunpaw – Tortoiseshell molly with a white facial marking  
> Parents: Harefur, Flytail  
> Sister: Whitepaw
> 
> Whitepaw – Almost all white molly with dilute tortoiseshell points  
> Parents: Harefur, Flytail  
> Sister: Sunpaw

**Queens**

> Ashfoot – Grey, broadfaced molly with a white locket  
> Mother of Robinkit and Woolkit
> 
> Pigeonspot – Grey spotted molly with a white chest and face  
> Mother of Swiftkit (p. Runningbrook) and Dewkit  
> Brother: Deadfoot  
> Mate: Cinderface
> 
> Morningflower – calico and white molly  
> Mate: Mudclaw  
> Children: Sunpaw, Whitepaw, Gorsekit, Storkkit

**Elders**

> Appledawn – cream molly
> 
> Crowfur – Black tom with a grey muzzle  
> Children: Deadfoot, Pigeonspot  
> G.Children: Robinkit, Woolkit


	2. Foreword

Just going to copy/paste this from the google doc:

If you’re not familiar with Warriors this probably doesn’t matter to you. If you are familiar with Warriors, I just wanted to say that this rewrite was a major for-fun project that I put a lot of work into because I am a creature full of anger and spite with an unnecessary attachment to a children’s book series. It was also fueled by a lot of other Warriors rewrites that were flying around at the time that I enjoyed, but most of which didn’t scratch the itch that I wanted scratched (mainly because they focused on realism--I wanted magic).

Basically what I’m saying is that this rewrite is much better written than the original, and tries to stay true to a lot of the original characters and content, but I threw out everything that made me extremely angry and jammed in a lot of stuff that made me happy. This ranges from name and description change to added/revamped worldbuilding to general plot stuff.

At the end of the day, though, my goal was to make more unique and relatable characters and to funnel more fantasy and magic into the series than there was in the original. I touched up family trees and straightened out plot and took out “x character is stupid specifically when it comes to plot reasons” but mostly I just made it fun, and I hope you also think it’s fun.

I’m leaving comments on so you can leave your thoughts and whatnot if you want, but I have no expectations. Hell if you wanna critique me then that’s your prerogative but I probably won’t really respond to those cus I don’t really wanna edit this anymore. I’ve put the effort I’m going to into this book already. I’ll be amazed if I finish book 2 (but not too amazed, because I do actually have a lot of ideas for it). If you comment your reactions, though, you’re gonna make my dang day.

Anyways, just have fun. I love you. You spent a lot of time reading my boring words though. Why are you still here. Read my fun words instead. Go on. Git.


	3. Prologue

“So we’ve lost Sunningrocks…” The blue-grey molly shook her regal head, casting her eyes in vain to the fading daylight as if in hope of answers. “We already lost so many cats this winter. Featherwhisker, Cherrypaw, Thrushpelt, Rosetail…and now Thistleclaw, as well.”

Both cats with her winced at the mention of their parents, the memory of their deaths far too fresh to mention. She ached for their loss. They were too young to see all these deaths, and not just the ones she’d listed but many more to the claws of famine, sickness, and plain old cold. Fate was indiscriminate—it took the young, the old, the frail, and the healthy, and in time she feared it would take her entire clan.

“We’ve made it through a famine before,” the tortoiseshell tom pointed out. “Seasons ago, during Halftail and One-eye’s time…”

“Not without outside help,” she said. “We brought in three rogues to bolster our ranks. And with my grandchild not due to become apprentices for another two or three moons, we may have to do so again.”

“Oh, Bluestar, I don’t think we need the help of mutts…” Bluestar silenced the tortoiseshell molly with a look. She sniffed, passing a paw over her whiskers. “Well, why don’t I consult Starclan?”

“So you can lie and say that they want no rogues?” the tom said dryly.

“Redtail!” she said, scandalized. “A healer never lies!”

He sniffed. “No, but my sister sure does.”

She chuckled, her whiskers twitching with amusement, but her eyes flew open wide as she stared past them at the sunset sky. With the way her entire form went rigid, Bluestar and Redtail first looked at her with intrigue, then followed her gaze. There seemed to be nothing unusual about the fiery glow of the fading sun that evening, but they didn’t have the eyes of a healer.

“What do you see, Spottedleaf?” Bluestar asked.

“…A great many things,” she murmured, finally tearing her eyes away. When they fixed on Bluestar, they were filled with the dazzling lights of dying day, dancing with the flames of whatever future she had witnessed. “You stand at the precipice of something that will change the clans forever, Bluestar. Your choice in outsider…let it be a wise one.”

She slumped, the energy leaving her. “Stormbringer give me strength, I’ve never been gripped like that before…” Her eyes turned upwards hesitantly, almost with fear. “Was that even Starclan…?”

The other two jolted with alarm. “What do you mean?” Redtail hissed.

But Spottedleaf merely shook her head. “I’m not sure myself, I’m afraid. I need to think about this. Good luck.”

It left Bluestar and Redtail to sit alone on the tall rock, watching as night approached and the dozing forms of the clan began to rouse for hunting and patrols…or at least the ones without such severe wounds from the fight with the Rivers.

“If that is the case,” Bluestar murmured, daring to break the silence. “I think I have someone in mind.”

Redtail shot her a look of surprise. “You don’t mean…?”

She gazed forward, thinking about the fire she’d seen in Spottedleaf’s eyes. He had to be the one, she thought.

“You’ve seen him before, Redtail,” she said. “I have a good feeling about him. I’ll take Lionheart and his new apprentice, and tomorrow we find him.” She looked to the stars, then squeezed her eyes shut. “I only hope the sheen of his pelt matches his spirit, if Spottedleaf’s foretelling holds true.”

“Are you sure, though?”

“What about me looks unsure, Redtail?” she snapped. “I will do anything to keep this clan alive. I’ve fought too damn hard to let famine end us.”

She leapt down, and Redtail watched her stalk away. Though it was time to set up patrols, he lingered longer, looking to Silverpelt as she began to stretch her star pattered fur across the sky. As he watched the coming night, though, he couldn’t help but hold a sense of dread in his belly for the future of Thunderclan.

Hopefully Bluestar was right. He’d never had reason to doubt her before, and he didn’t plan on starting now.


	4. Chapter 1

At night, the forest was lusher than ever. Smelling of dampness and dew, the cool air bathed Rusty’s senses, enriching him with the glow of the moons, the vivid greens of the underbrush, and a sense of freedom that’s beckoned and called for just about as long as he can remember. His breaths came excited and patchy, and he crept through the flora, eager to explore.

His fur prickled. There had always been something magical about the forest. It held secrets, that much he knew, and he craved nothing more than to find them.

As a hairless paw landed in front of him, however, he found a little more than he bargained for. He shrank away from the hideous creature before him, first thinking monster—the forest had to have those, too, right?

Upon closer inspection, though, he realized that this was no monster, just a cat with eyes like the moons and skin as raw and exposed as a human’s.

“You hear it, don’t you?” they asked.

He drew himself up, leaned away from this creature. “Hear what?”

The cat rose onto their back feet, moving like a wild cat for sure as they padded a circle around Rusty. His eyes followed first the twitch of their rat-like tail, but as he realized that this cat was not looking at him, followed their gaze.

Up and up, he stared slackjawed up at the brilliant silver wood tree, shining in the light unlike any tree he’d ever seen before.

The stranger put a paw on its root. “Do you see that it’s budding?”

Indeed it was. Tiny buds covered its branches, just on the verge of bursting forth into leaves.

“There’s a lot that’s changed in the world since my time,” they said. “Things that have come and gone, but the consequences of ancient criminals will follow the tracks of their modern successors wherever they go. An era is ending, now. The world has finished breathing out, and she is ready to draw another breath. Are you ready?”

“I…I don’t know?”

Their moon eyes turned back to him. “You will be asked to decide soon. Don’t fret if you must say no. One way or another, this breath is finished and another will begin anew, with or without you.”

Rusty awoke with a start.

“Ah, there you are.” He blinked in confusion up at his older sister, Princess. “You were sleeping like the dead. I couldn’t wake you up.”

“Oh, sorry.” He pushed himself up and gave himself a thorough shake, hoping to chase away the remnants of the dream and put himself back where he belonged: on the cool tiles of his human’s kitchen.

“Don’t say sorry, you haven’t missed anything.” Princess’s whiskers twitched mischievously. “He’s still asleep. Perfect time to practice stalking.”

Put off by the dream, he hesitantly said: “But stalking is for wild cats, isn’t it? We have the humans to feed us.” She cocked her head. He’d never backed out of a lesson before. “Well, I don’t know, Henry was talking to me—”

“I get that you like your friends, Rusty, I really do, but you’re going to listen to Henry? He barely knows his tail from a snake. Can’t trust him a second.”

“He was just saying that the wild cats are kinda stupid for living out in the forest when they could easily live with the humans,” he continued. “And aren’t they?”

“Trust no one, Rusty. Especially humans. Doesn’t matter how well they treat us: you should fear anyone who has more power than you.”

“But…they love us…”

“And what happens when they don’t?” He said nothing. “I doubt that will happen with your human though, so don’t worry about it. Come on. If anything, stalking is fun, isn’t it?”

“Mmhm.”

“Then let’s go practice your stalking.”

Rusty wasn’t the least bit surprised when Princess led him to the yard of a chubby black and white kitten called Smudge. They crawled into the bushes without a sound. Smudge was belly up on the patio, snoring so loud that the birds wouldn’t land in the grass. Rusty flattened himself to the grass and crept towards him.

Princess’s tail whisked past his ear. “Slower,” she whispered. “Patience is key.”

“Right,” he breathed, slowing his pawsteps as he drew ever closer to Smudge.

Then finally, after what felt like seasons of waiting, he was close enough to make the leap. He darted forward, laughing triumphantly as Smudge jolted awake, giving him a few panicked swats. Rusty danced out of reach, then lunged again, barrelling him onto his side when he tried to run.

“Rusty!” he wailed, claws scraping on the pavement as he tried to scramble away. “Lemme go! Come on!”

He let him up, tail curling as he bounced back to his feet. “You’re no good at this, Smudge.”

Smudge gave his chest a few quick licks. “Yeah, well, I don’t have my sister following me around training me to be a savage!”

“A savage? Is that what I am now?” Smudge squeaked and leapt to his feet, all his fur bushing out. Princess watched from the bushes, blue eyes more amused than affronted. “I’m as civil a house cat as you, Smudge, I assure you.”

Smudge’s tail lashed once. “Then where’s your house?” he said warily.

“I live with Rusty.” When Smudge continued to watch her, she sniffed. “What feral has a collar, Smudge?”

“I just don’t know any house cats that…hunt,” he said.

Princess pulled herself from beneath the bush, eyes nearly shut in the light but her silver fur gleaming luxuriously as she stretched. Sure enough, her purple collar, though a little ragged and aged, hung somewhat loose around her neck.

“It’s in the family,” she said lightly. “Our mother taught me, and now I’m teaching him.”

“And there’s nothing wrong with hunting,” Rusty said. “It’s fun.”

“It’s a feral thing is all,” Smudge muttered.

“Yeah, but—”

“Well, you kittens have fun,” Princess spoke over him. She was staring at the sun, but now strode to the opposite fence. “I promised to meet Oliver at sun’s brightest. Enjoy the warmth, _house_ _cat,”_ she added, flicking Smudge’s ear as she passed.

Smudge laid back his ears irritably. He bared his teeth when Rusty took a playful swing at him, hoping to get him to join the game.

“Can tell you’re siblings,” he grumbled, giving him a hardy shove away.

“I hope so, since, y’know, we are. Aw, c’mon,” he nudged Smudge when he didn’t take it in light. “I’m sorry I scared you. I won’t do it again.”

“Yeah, don’t let Princess hear you say that.”

“She’s not that bad.”

“To _you_.” He huffed, swiping a paw over his whiskers. “Never mind. You wanna do something?”

“How about we go into the woods?” His whiskers twitched when Smudge shot him a look. “Guess not? Let’s lie on the table.”

“You don’t want to go into the woods anyways,” Smudge said as they trotted over and leap onto the table beside the fence. “That’s where the real ferals are. I was talking to Henry the other day—”

Knowing that Princess would roll her eyes, he couldn’t help but do the same. “Here we go again.”

“You listen to him too!” he protested. “He told me that he nearly got killed by the biggest, meanest cat he’d ever seen from there!” he finished. “A big tom with spines sticking out of his fur like thistles and, and his markings were completely unnatural! Like a monster out of a nightmare.”

“Henry barely knows his tail from a snake,” he retorted.

Smudge scoffed. “Says the one who used to hound him all the time for stories about the forest.”

“Princess told me that none of it’s true.”

“Princess told you to jump into the road, would you?”

“If she had a good reason to, then sure,” he shot back. “I’d ask her why first, though.”

“Well—well I do know they eat bones,” Smudge said. “They crunch them up like they’re nothing.”

“I doubt they eat bones.”

“Have you seen the fur scraps on the border?”

“Oh, they shed. How _terrifying_.”

“You’re too fearless for your own good,” Smudge said. “If you think it’s so safe, then why don’t you go in?” His eyes flew open wide, though, when Rusty shot him a look, eyes gleaming. “Rusty, no. It was a joke!”

Rusty leapt onto the fence, tail high and confident. He didn’t reply immediately, gazing deep into the forest. How many times had he gazed longingly into it? He had no reason to go in, though. As much as he wanted to explore, the forest just wasn’t where he belonged, no matter how tantalizing the smells.

But that dream. It’d felt so good, so real. He wanted those sounds and those smells so badly that it hurt.

Smudge leapt up beside him, jerking him away from his daydreaming. “Don’t do this. Princess will claw my ears off if you get hurt.”

He laughed. “Then I won’t get hurt!”

He landed on the grass on the other side. He’d been here before too, but each step forward brought him closer and closer to territory that he’d never set a paw in before. The fur around his ruff rose with anticipation and excitement swelled in his chest. He parted his jaws, letting the foreign and wonderful smells of the forest wash over him.

“Rusty!” Smudge whisper-yelled. “Get back here!”

With one last glance over his shoulder, he slid into the bushes.


	5. Chapter 2

There was something beautifully alien about the woods. No control. Unclean, wild, and best of all, completely untamed. Humans liked their territories neat and in row, their perfectly aligned homes running clean along the side of their roads and pathways. There was intent.

But here, there was freedom. He stopped, gazing with wonder at the shadows that swayed and danced in sync with the canopy above. Spring had just taken hold, yet the forest thrived. Patches of snow lay here and there, hidden beneath roots and bushes. In the shade of the trees, Rusty realized why it hadn’t melted yet. He shivered; he never would have guessed it would be so frigid where the sun didn’t touch.

Nonetheless he pressed forth. He was so busy sucking in the rich smells of the forest—the wet smell of new growth; damp, pungent bark; tiny, furred animals; and the earthiness of moist, fertile soil—that he didn’t realize how far he’d wandered. He came to a clearing where the sunlight streamed through the trees, setting his ginger fur alight. He sat and purred to himself, enjoying the warmth despite the damp earth beneath his paws.

Then froze when he heard the snap of a twig. He leapt to his feet just in time for a ball of grey fur to slam into him, and the fight began.

Desperately trying to remember the pointers Princess had given him, he rolled with the feral, using his momentum to end up on top. He smacked the grey tom in the face once, twice, then got a hefty paw strike in return. He stumbled away, stunned, then yelled when his attacker leapt and squashed him to the ground.

Teeth pricked the back of his neck. No, he wasn’t going like this!

Claws out, he stomped on the tom’s back paw. He yelped and let go. Surging upwards, Rusty managed to throw his heavier attacker off of him. Finally, they separated, fur still spiny, tails still twitching.

Then the grey tom sat down, sticking out his leg to give his injured paw a quick lick. “Ow, I think you drew blood!” he whined, cringing away.

“You were biting the back of my neck!” Rusty exclaimed. He trapped his tail, giving it a few licks to help the fur lie flat. “What was I supposed to do?”

“I was just trying to scare you off!”

“Oh? How well’d that work?” He huffed and gave himself a shake to get rid of the leaf litter. “You deserved every scratch I gave you.”

The grey tom gave himself a shake too, but with his long, thick fur nothing came loose. “You know what? You got a point. What’s a kittypet like you doing out here, anyways?”

“Kitty-what?”

“Kittypet,” he said, stressing each syllable. He pointed a paw at him, extending a single claw. “That’s what you are.”

“I’m a house cat,” he said.

“Yeah, that’s what a kittypet is, idiot.”

“You’re the idiot,” he retorted. “You’re the feral who’s out here in the woods trying to live on I don’t know what, facing death around every corner. You could get yourself a human and be perfectly fine.”

He puffed out his chest indignantly. “I’m not just a feral, I’m a clan cat! I’m Greypaw of Thunderclan!”

“Yeah? Is that why you’re wearing that ridiculous stuff?”

“Ridiculous?” Greypaw fumbled with the leather strap slung across him, pulling out something surprisingly sharp and well-made, almost human-like in craft. “You can’t even imagine the things I can do with this!”

“How are you gonna have the paws free to use it for anything?”

“I walk on my back legs, dummy.”

“I know. I don’t get that. Don’t you get sore?”

“Well yeah, when I was younger. Not anymore because I’m strong and not soft and weak like you.”

“Oh yeah? If I’m so soft and weak, why are you the one bleeding?” Greypaw faltered, the point of his knife falling away. “Thought so.”

“Why do you fight so good, anyways? What kind of kittypet knows how to fight?” Rusty shrugged. “And why are you out in the woods? If you’re so happy with your human, I don’t see why _you’re_ out here.”

Rusty opened his mouth, but…Greypaw had a point. He really did crave something different. None of the other house cats would play his games like Princess did. Smudge just barely tolerated him. Greypaw was the first cat who’d ever gotten his blood pumping. The forest was the first thing that had stimulated him—for once, he felt full and satisfied, and he hadn’t even needed a meal to get it.

“Hey, Lionheart!” Greypaw suddenly yelled over his shoulder. “How’d I do?!”

Rusty leapt to his paws when he saw a pair of amber eyes, deeper and even more yellow than Greypaw’s, open from the bushes. The cat that followed was bigger than any he’d ever seen before, a massive, golden furred tom with a thick, mane-like ruff around his neck.

But he was nothing compared to the molly that followed. This regal, blue-grey cat had eyes that seemed to cut straight through him. They held him in place. He could feel the authority coming off of her as she raised herself to her full height. Judging by the white hairs on her muzzle and the scars that crisscrossed her face, she was older than her golden companion and had seen her fair share of fights.

And like Greypaw, they both had leather straps with knives of their own. They were far more worn, however, and far more ornate. It wasn’t the only decoration they wore, either. The lion-cat had little things hidden among his thick fur, gleaming where the sun hit it. Some looked like teeth.

“Fine, until you told him we were here,” Lionheart said dryly. Greypaw trotted over and Lionheart gave him a playful cuff over his ear. “We’ll have to do something about that loud mouth of yours, Greypaw.”

The molly, eyes still fixed on Rusty, settled on her haunches. “You’re quite adventurous for a kittypet,” she said, eyes narrowed.

Rusty raised his chin to meet her gaze. “I like to explore.”

“Clearly. You took your time before choosing to venture in, though,” she said. “You’ve been gazing at the forest with longing in your eyes since my patrols first spotted you on your fence.”

He swallowed hard. “…So?”

She blinked. “What’s your name?”

“Rusty,” he said. “What’s yours?”

“My name is Bluestar. I’m the leader of Thunderclan.”

“And Thunderclan is…what you ferals call yourselves, right?”

The fur on her shoulders began to spine up. “We are no mere ferals, and I suggest you refrain from comparing us to them.”

Feeling bold, he shot back, “Then convince me. What makes Thunderclan different?”

She raised her head to gaze down her muzzle at him, but her fur had begun to lie flat. Her ear twitched once, and she replied, “We differ because Thunderclan is a society. Together, we survive in these woods. Our warriors,” she flicked her tail towards Lionheart, “train our young cats called apprentices,” now towards Greypaw, “and together they feed, defend, and care for the cats who cannot do so for themselves: the queens, the kits, and the elders. Do you think ferals, who only care about themselves and their own well-being, would do something like that?”

“No, I suppose not.” He leaned forward, ears pricked. “But you really do all that? Without humans?”

“What do we need humans for?” she said flatly.

“Yeah, that’s why it’s pretty incredible. But what about when you get sick? Or when a dangerous dog shows up? Or you can’t find enough food?”

Bluestar rose to his questions easily. “Our healer tends us when we are sick. Her knowledge of herbs, among other things, is invaluable. Our warriors are trained to fight, to keep intruders,” she looked at him pointedly, “and other threats away. And they’re well-trained to hunt and make sure the clan never goes hungry.”

Rusty nodded. “Okay.”

“Would you like to see for yourself?” she asked.

“Huh?”

“You fought well against Greypaw,” she said. “And unlike most, you haven’t turned tail and ran. I am asking if you would like to join Thunderclan.”

Join Thunderclan? And see more of the forest? Run through it every day and every night, never bored, always something new? He nearly agreed on the spot, but Smudge’s concerns held him back.

“Won’t that be dangerous?” he said carefully.

“Yes,” she said. “No matter how skilled a warrior is, sometimes things are out of our control. And of course, any fight poses the risk of death. There’s more to death than you think, though, and you can learn about that as well. But if you would like just a taste of our way of life first—perhaps until the next full moon—then we can give you that, and if it’s not to your liking, then you can return home.

“But if you leave us,” she added, voice turning stony, “then you will never be allowed to return. Do you understand?”

“I…I do, ma’am.”

“Good. I will give you until moon-high to decide,” she said, standing up. “Two cats will come to you at the border to hear your answer. Greypaw, take Rusty back to the Houses.”

“Got it!” Greypaw trotted over, giving him a friendly nudge. “Come on, let’s go.”

At the border, before disappearing into the bushes, Greypaw paused. “So, think you’ll join us?” he asked. “I’m the only apprentice my age—I’d love to have you.”

Rusty hesitated. “I don’t know yet,” he admitted.

Greypaw shrugged. “Alright. Still, hopefully I see you tonight!”

With a wave of his bushy tail, he turned and disappeared into the bushes. Rusty stayed at the border, watching the place he disappeared, taking in every sound and every detail of the forest.

That was when realization dawned on him. He was about to make a decision. Was this what the cat of his dreams had meant? Was this the decision he had to make? But it was just a dream.

Right?

Behind him, he heard Smudge calling his name. With thoughts bumbling around his head like clouds, he turned and headed back to the Houses.


	6. Chapter 3

“Seriously? You met the ferals, and they didn’t kill you?”

Bathing in the sunlight atop the table, Rusty couldn’t help but stare through the gaps of the fence back to the forest. “Mmhm.”

Smudge’s fur began to rise. He gave his flank a few brisk licks to make it lie flat. “You really are crazy. Well, did they say anything? Could you even understand them? I heard they speak in tongues. Or did they chase you out?” He gasped. “Don’t tell me you fought them off!”

Rusty sputtered. “What? No. Well—kinda. The first one I met was the same age as us—what a big knot of fur he was though—and we scuffled. Then two more showed up out of the bushes.”

He leaned forward, whiskers twitching. “Then what?”

At that he hesitated. He didn’t want to go sharing all of the wild cats’ secrets. It felt like he’d been privileged to learn what he had about the inner workings of Thunderclan, little though it was. Just that thought made him hungry for more. How could cats survive so well without humans? He needed to know.

“We talked a bit,” he said idly. “Then the leader, Bluestar, asked me if I’d like to join for a while, see what it’s like.”

“WHAT?!” Smudge screeched. “That’s insane! You can’t be serious. Oh no,” he wrapped a paw around his face. “You’re serious. They actually asked you that! Why? Why _you_?”

“I…don’t know.”

“They’re probably just going to lure you in so they can eat you,” he hissed.

Rusty thought about the glint in the eyes of Bluestar and Lionheart, the old scars, the hardened looks on their faces. No, if they wanted to eat him, or kill him, then they would have had no trouble doing just that. Why would they lure him anywhere?

“I don’t think so,” he said. “It doesn’t make sense.”

“Well, good thing you’re not going anyways. You’re not going, right?” When he didn’t respond, Smudge scrambled to his feet. “Rusty, no! You can’t join the ferals! You know nothing about them!”

“I want to know about them.”

“You’re too nosy for your own good. You’ll die!”

“I might,” he agreed.

“What? And that’s worth it?!”

“I could live for something other than a cushy life,” he said quietly. “I could learn how to hunt and fight and…” He trailed off as Smudge’s ears and tail drooped.

“What about me?” he said pitifully.

Rusty bumped his head. “I’ll visit,” he said. “And maybe I’ll change my mind. They said I could.”

“But what if you die?” he squeaked. “I’d never know.”

He gazed back out into the forest, thinking about all the dangers that Bluestar had told him about. “No,” he said. “But you should probably be grateful that you wouldn’t.”

Smudge was speechless at that. “But…what about Princess?”

“I’ll visit her too.”

“But she’s your sister.”

“I know. She’ll understand. Maybe she’ll be proud,” he added, puffing out his chest. “I’ll learn how to hunt and fight better than she ever could.”

With a heavy sigh, Smudge planted his butt on the glass table once more. “I guess I’m not going to change your mind,” he said drearily. “You promise you’ll visit?”

He gave his shoulder a friendly lick. “Yeah, of course. You’re my best friend. I couldn’t leave you completely.”

“Okay,” he relented. “Good luck, Rusty.”

“Thanks, Smudge.”

It didn’t feel right to stick around, so Rusty went back to his own yard. He stopped in front of the door to his owner’s house, wondering if they would miss him. But then again, they’d just gotten him. They couldn’t be too attached. He knew he wasn’t.

He trotted over to the nearby bush and crawled underneath. There the branches made a nice fork. He’d gotten his head stuck once, and lost his collar when pulling himself out. The humans had since replaced it, but he knew he could do it again. Couldn’t be a feral if he had a collar, he thought.

After that, he curled up and napped until the sun came down and the twin moons began to rise, glowing like a cat’s eyes in the dark. Both were heavy lidded, but it would only be a manner of days before they were both full.

He waited by the border, ears pricking at every sound. If the forest had been interesting by day, it was downright fascinating at night. Everything seemed to come alive when darkness fell, even if it was still quite chilly.

As he watched the moons climb, he became worried that they might not show. Had they changed their minds about letting him join? Had they decided they didn’t want a “kittypet” living among them?

Just as those thoughts reached their peak, two pairs of eyes opened from the bushes. He leaned forward, trying to catch their scent. Would he know them?

No. The first to step out had dappled tortoiseshell fur and pale green eyes, followed by a grey lynx point tom with blue eyes. Something about the regal profile of his head reminded him of Bluestar, and when he sat, he tilted his head ever so slightly, just like she did.

“You must be Rusty,” the tortoiseshell said.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Sir,” he corrected. “My name’s Redtail. I’m Bluestar’s second in command—her deputy. And this is Whitestorm, one of Thunderclan’s most respected warriors.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you!”

“And you as well.” Redtail’s ears twitched, eyes glinting with a hint of warmth. “Have you made your decision?”

“I have,” he said. “I want to join Thunderclan.”

“Confident,” Whitestorm murmured, his mew deeper than Rusty expected. “I see a lot of potential, Redtail.”

“As do I,” he agreed. “Come on, Rusty. Do you think you can keep up with us?”

He looked at Redtail and Whitestorm’s hard, lean bodies and long, long legs. He absolutely could not.

“Yes,” he said.

And then they were off, and Rusty could only pray that he didn’t get too lost as he fell behind. Especially when he couldn’t make the graceful jumps that they did over logs and streams and rocks, or when they made a sharp turn and he nearly ran into a tree.

They reached the top of a ravine, where they were barely out of breath and he was panting heavily. He hadn’t lost sight of them once, though, and he couldn’t help but be proud.

“The camp is down here,” said Redtail. “It looks like a hard climb, but there’s a path if you know where to look. Follow me closely. Whitestorm will watch from behind.”

Rusty practically had his nose in Redtail’s bushy striped tail as he led him down the path to the bottom of the ravine. He was right. It wasn’t nearly as bad as it looked. He reached the bottom, and by then he’d caught his breath so that he could look a little more put together as Redtail led him into the clearing.

His chest clenched as the moment he stepped in, two dozen pairs of eyes all rested on him. Still, he raised his chin. Whitestorm had admired his confidence. Maybe the rest of them would too, fake as it was.

A familiar face pushed through the crowd and met them. Bluestar’s eyes gleamed as she peered at him. “You came.”

“I want to learn,” he said.

She nodded. “And learn you will. Follow me.”

She led him over to a tumble of rocks where most of the crowd had gathered. Redtail sat at the bottom of the tumble, motioning for Rusty to sit beside him, while Bluestar bounded up the rocks to stand at the top.

“Thunderclan!” she bellowed. “At dusk, I told you that we may have an outsider here to try out life in the clan. He has come through. This is Rusty, and he will be living with us until the full moon—and perhaps until death. What say you?”

“That’s no rogue,” a golden molly said, eyeing him suspiciously. “You’re from the Houses, aren’t you?”

He raised his chin. “I am.”

Another molly, a dusky brown tabby, bared her teeth. “A rogue I can understand, but a frickin’ kittypet? Thunderclan’s better than that! You’re just a spoiled brat who’s disillusioned into thinking humans actually care about him!”

His ears flattened, but Redtail flicked him with his tail before he could retort. He kept his mouth shut.

Just as well, someone else was ready to speak up on his behalf. “Rusty may be a kittypet, but he has plenty of potential,” Lionheart said. “He just about made Greypaw turn tail.”

“Doesn’t that say more about your mentoring skills than it does about him?” that same molly retorted.

At that, another golden molly sprang to her feet. “Speak to my brother like that again, Robinwing—” She hissed furiously when the tabby tom beside her ran his tail down her flank.

“Well,” a slight tom said, “what does our deputy think?”

“He kept up during the run back,” Redtail said. “And he’s keen and confident. I trust Bluestar’s choice and think we should give him a try.”

“Eh,” an older looking molly flicked a dismissive ear, “I’ve seen worse.”

“You’re blind, you stupid old bat,” snarled a curled eared tom.

“There’s _been_ worse, idiot! I support the kittypet!” she yowled.

“So do I!” said Lionheart’s sister.

“Me too!” Greypaw squealed, squirming out from between Lionheart and a grey molly that looked a whole lot like him.

Bluestar inclined her head. “Frostfur? Brindleface?”

The white molly who Rusty assumed was Frostfur eyed him over. “A little scrawny,” she remarked, “but I think I’m with Lionheart. He looks keen. Has potential.”

“Then I’m with Frostfur,” Brindleface said quietly.

Bluestar nodded. “And the rest of the elders?”

Though a lot of grumbling came from the pack of older cats, it ended with begrudging agreement.

“And what about you, Tigerclaw?”

Nearly the entire crowd swung their heads to look at the massive tabby tom seated beside Lionheart’s sister. The two cats flanking his other side looked at him especially intensely. He blinked at Rusty, searching him head to toe, then gave a chuckle.

“Well, Bluestar, I don’t see why we can’t try him out,” he said. “A bit old to be taken from the Houses, but if he has potential then he has potential.”

“Then it’s decided.” She leapt down from the rocks and beckoned Rusty over.

“Go stand in front of her, on your back legs,” Redtail whispered.

Oh no. Rusty padded over to Bluestar, who had already risen onto her back legs, towering over him. Shakily, he stood up too, tail waving wildly as he tried to keep his balance. Behind him, the crowd suppressed chuckles. Bluestar’s stare silenced them.

“From now on, until you depart our clan or become a warrior, you will be known as Firepaw,” she said, “named for the way your pelt sets aflame in the eye of Hiverne. Redtail, I want you to mentor him. You have the patience and the passion to teach Firepaw from scratch—I trust no other cat to teach him as well as you will.”

Redtail walked over, as balanced on his hind legs as a human…or the hairless cat from his dream. Firepaw stood still as he pressed his nose lightly to his brow (perhaps knowing that anything harder would topple him).

“Welcome to the clan, Firepaw,” he said. Whiskers twitching, he added, “You’re doing well so far. You can sit now.”

He flopped onto his haunches with a relieved huff. Bluestar remained standing as she stepped forward. “Firepaw will receive his knife on the full moon, when he has decided whether he will stay or go. The meeting is over.”

The cats parted, ignoring him for the most part. A few called out greetings, welcoming him to the clan. Greypaw was the only one who bounded up.

“Good job on your twos, Firepaw!” he said. “You looked like you were gonna collapse any second. Great name, though.”

“I felt like I was going to collapse,” he huffed. “I don’t know how you do it.”

“It’ll take practice, but you’ll get it,” Redtail said.

“What’s the point, though?”

“You’d be surprised by how much you can do if you have your front paws free. You’re slower, but you can carry more, or reach something that would otherwise be out of your reach with your jaws. You’ll have to learn to use your paws to do things, but that will come with time, too.”

“Are you going to show him the territory?” Greypaw asked, practically vibrating. “Can Lionheart and I come with?”

“Actually, Greypaw, you need a lesson in silence,” Lionheart said. For such a big cat, he moved as silent as an owl in flight. “You’ll have plenty of time to spend with Firepaw later.”

“But—”

“Come on, leave Redtail to his work.”

He sighed. “Fine. See you later, Firepaw, I’ll introduce you to the apprentices!”

He trotted after Lionheart, tail waving delightedly.

“That ‘paw takes after his mother,” Redtail chuckled. “Where his mother gets it from, though…certainly not from Bluestar.”

“Huh? Greypaw is Bluestar’s grandson?”

“Wouldn’t think it looking at him. Let’s show you around, though.”

“The forest?”

His tail curled as he chuckled. “Let’s start with the camp, ‘paw.”


	7. Chapter 4

Under the light of the moon, the clan cats organized themselves in groups for hunting and patrolling, led by a golden molly who Redtail called Speckletail. He mentioned a few other names, but it only served to make Firepaw dizzy.

Redtail noticed. “You’ll learn our names,” he promised. “If you don’t know a name, just ask me.”

“Okay,” he said with relief.

With a nod, he beckoned him over to a thick growth of brown ferns, all bunched around a tree stump. Near the front, it didn’t seem to provide much shelter, but deeper within the ferns grew so large and so thick that not even a cat hair would get through.

Redtail invited him to stick his head inside, and he was swamped with scents. He could see now that the underside of the ferns near the back had been reinforced by a tangle of interwoven sticks. It dawned on him that it was probably to stop the ferns from buckling underneath snow in the thick of winter.

“This will be your den for now,” Redtail explained. “The apprentices den. You have a few other denmates—not as many as we would hope after such a harsh winter—and you’ll meet them in due time.”

“So all apprentices have names with paw in it, right?” he asked.

“Precisely. I used to be Redpaw, and when I became a warrior earned the name Redtail. Train hard and serve your clan, and you’ll have a name of your own one day. Speaking of warriors…”

He beckoned with his tail, leading Firepaw to a massive tangle of bushes and a couple of tiny trees. Because the leaves had not yet grown in, it looked more like a ball of branches, brambles, and, upon closer inspection, moss and furs as well.

“The warriors’ den,” Redtail said. “Once you earn your name, you’ll sleep here instead. For now, the warriors would prefer you keep your nose out of it.”

Firepaw jerked away just before sticking his head in. “Sorry, sir.”

“It’s your first time. You’ll be forgiven.”

Next he took Firepaw to a fallen tree, which appeared to be hollowed out. Through the barren fronds of ferns, Firepaw could see the old molly who had spoken in his name earlier. One of her eyes was missing, leaving a horrific scar, and the other was a cloudy white. Her entire muzzle was scratched up from age old battles.

“Redtail, is that you?” she croaked. “With the new apprentice?”

“It is, One-eye!” he replied loudly. To Firepaw, he said, “One-eye was a senior warrior when Bluestar was born, the oldest cat in the clan. If you live long enough to see your ninth winter, you’ll be allowed to retire.”

“Come closer, Firepaw,” One-eye said. “Can’t see or hear much, but I can get a good sniff of you.”

He crept closer, letting the molly all but bury her nose into his fur. “Still smelling like the Houses, but a couple nights in the woods will give you back your wild smell,” she said. “What made you join the clan, Firepaw?”

“I want to learn,” he said, making sure to raise his voice. “I want to know how cats can live without humans. I was always taught that you’re silly to be living out here alone, but you seem to be doing fine.”

“Oh, so you think a cat can’t take care of themself without a human?!” That snarl came from a tabby tom with curled ears, poking his head out from the log long enough to sneer at him. “It’s just like a frickin’ kittypet to—”

One-eye gave him a shockingly accurate smack in the face. “Don’t listen to Smallear,” she said to Firepaw. “He’s still thinking like a warrior, only retired this winter. Get to be as old as me, and you realize that cats that grow up differently know nothing else.” She looked fondly at Firepaw. “It’s good to see a cat so young who can see beyond his own nose. You’ll make a damn fine warrior, Firepaw.”

Glowing from the praise, Firepaw couldn’t make his mouth work even to thank her. Redtail stepped in. “I’m glad you think so, One-eye. Thank you for speaking for him.”

“I know good warriors when I see them, Redtail,” she replied.

“You do. I’m going to finish showing him the camp, but you’ll see more of him later.”

“Of course.”

“Just make sure you teach him to respect his elders,” Smallear chimed in, seeming to find his voice again after One-eye had so harshly told him off.

“You know I will, Smallear.”

He led him away from the elders’ den to a thorny bramble bush. Firepaw could hear faint conversation inside.

“This is the nursery. Like how we care for the elders, we care for our queens and their kits as well, making sure they’re fed before the rest of the clan eats.” He sat at the entrance, but did not go in. “The only reason you will enter the nursery is if you have or mate or kittens in there. Otherwise, you must be invited.”

“Alright.”

Before he could move on, though, a kitten who could only be a couple moons younger than him burst out of the entrance. Her grey fur stuck out in every direction. “Hello, I’m Cinderkit!” she announced at the top of her lungs. “Are you actually a kittypet? What name did you get? I wasn’t allowed to see your ceremony because my _mom_ is keeping me in the nursery because I stuck burrs grandma’s nest—”

“Cinderkit!” The molly that exited after Cinderkit was the one who looked like Greypaw and, now that he was thinking about it, a whole lot like Bluestar as well. Behind her peered a black and white kitten the same age as Cinderkit. “I told you that you’re grounded for a reason.”

“Well, she’s here now, Mossflower,” Redtail said. “Might as well introduce her and Swiftkit to Firepaw.”

“Firepaw!” Cinderkit squealed. “You’re fire and I’m cinders! That’s great! We should be friends—we’ll be in the same den soon, after all, I get to be an apprentice in a moon!”

“Not if you keep up this behaviour,” Mossflower said. “Welcome to the clan, Firepaw. I’ve already heard plenty about you—Greypaw couldn’t keep quiet. It’s good that he has someone closer to his age to befriend.”

“Huh? What about the other apprentices, though?”

“Sandpaw and Dustpaw are nearly warriors,” she said. “And Ravenpaw…well, he just started his training, but he’s Dustpaw’s littermate, so there’s still a fair few moons difference. We’re a little low on apprentices.” She shared a sad look with Redtail. “We lost a lot of kits and apprentices this past winter. It was so cold that the ones who didn’t die of starvation died of frostbite.”

Firepaw said nothing. All the while they’d struggled in the cold, he’d been shut up in his human’s house for the entire winter, only occasionally getting a blast of cold air from the door. Did that mean Greypaw had had littermates? Did they die too?

“This spring and summer will be better,” Redtail said. “With how she and Lionheart have been talking lately, Frostfur may be joining you in the nursery, and Brindleface mentioned wanting kittens as well.”

“I know, but it doesn’t change the fact that we’ve all lost something this past season.”

While they chatted, Cinderkit positioned herself right up against Firepaw’s flank. “I’m just as big as you,” she grumbled. “Why can’t I be an apprentice now?”

“Probably because you’re a brat,” Swiftkit said. Firepaw jumped; he hadn’t seen the young tom move away from Mossflower.

“ _You’re_ a brat,” she retorted. “Hey, Firepaw, what’s it like living in a House? Aren’t you bored all the time?”

“Well…I wasn’t usually bored, because my human gave me toys to play with.”

“Like beetles?” she asked, green eyes sparkling.

He laughed. “No, actually, they would always panic when they say a bug in the house. They gave me a lot of balls that make noise when you push them around, and sometimes they would dangle string for me to catch.”

“Huh, guess that’s not so bad.”

“Yeah but I bet the food tastes bad,” Swiftkit said. “Lizardtail told me that kittypets eat garbage and rabbit pellets.”

“It tasted fine,” Firepaw said. “And sometimes, they would give me soft food that tasted _really_ good.”

“Probably not as good as a mouse.”

“But weren’t you lonely?” Cinderkit pressed.

“Lonely?” he said. “I don’t know. When spring came, I was let outside to meet the other house cats and I made some friends. I have an older sister, too. She taught me how to hunt and fight a bit.”

“Whoa, there’s kittypets that can fight?”

“Mmhm. She was really good at it, too.”

“Sorry, kits, but I have one last thing to show Firepaw,” Redtail cut in. “You can play with him later, if Mossflower allows it.”

Cinderkit wrinkled her nose. “But—”

“Okay, bye!” Swiftkit disappeared into the nursery, and Mossflower swept her huge, fluffy tail over Cinderkit’s back.

“Come along, love. You’re lucky to be out here at all.”

Cinderkit groaned loudly, but let her mother drag her along. “Bye, Firepaw!”

“I’ll show you the healer’s den, and then we’ll go out to the forest,” Redtail promised.

A tingle of excitement snapped through him, shooting down to the tip of his tail. The forest! Finally! He scurried after Redtail.

The last den, besides the one beneath the rocks where Bluestar had disappeared, was guarded from the rest of the camp by a short tunnel made of clay. Beyond, the light of the fattened moons peered into a clearing, around which an array of nests lay. A pile of glossy black fur occupied one, a paw bandaged with leaves sticking straight out.

To the right lay a rocky shelf. As Redtail walked forward, a slender black tortoiseshell pulled herself out of the hole in the slate.

“Redtail,” she nodded curtly. When she turned to Firepaw, however, a purr swelled in her throat. “Well, well, look at you, the little firebrand. You really do glow in the light—no wonder Bluestar named you Fire.”

“This is Spottedleaf,” Redtail said, “the clan’s healer.”

She sat with her delicate paws placed neatly in front of her, looking towards Redtail but eyeing Firepaw out the corner of her eye. “You know, Firepaw, I wasn’t so sure about you at first. Now, though, I see your potential. You have the light of Starclan in your eyes.”

“I do?” Firepaw said, missing the way Redtail rolled his eyes. “What’s Starclan?”

“Starclan are our ancestors,” she replied. “From the founders who died winters upon winters ago to my poor mother who died just two moons back, all of our spirits eventually make it to the skies. Well,” she added, chuckling, “almost all, I suppose. Thistleclaw certainly didn’t.”

“I still don’t think you should have abided Bluestar’s wishes to bury him with a soul tree,” Redtail hissed.

Spottedleaf shrugged. “She’s the ‘star, Redtail, what was I to do? Say no? Starclan certainly had no protests. Bluestar must have had a point about him.”

He shook his head. “Later,” he grumbled. To Firepaw, he said: “As our healer, Spottedleaf has a powerful connection to the earth and to Starclan. She can interpret signs that help guide us moving forward and tap into the mystical energy of the world. She’s also the cat who takes care of our sick and our wounded, like Ravenpaw after he had a nasty fall.”

Redtail huffed as Spottedleaf walked past him to stand beside her sleeping patient, her tail running straight across his face. “Well, you know who scared him into that tree in the first place, my dearest brother?”

Redtail sighed.

She dabbed lightly at Ravenpaw’s bandages. “My niece is lucky her victim only scratched himself on a branch coming down. It could have been a much worse fall.”

“Swiftstep and I already talked to her,” he said.

She flicked her tail, tossing a look his way. “I just don’t appreciate her putting more cats in my den. Now that Featherwhisker has passed on, it’s only little ol’ me in here.”

“I know, Spot, and I already said that I talked to her.”

“Mmhm.” She turned away. “I have things to do, Redtail.” To Firepaw, she added sweetly, “If you have any aches and pains, sweetpaw, come to me immediately, alright?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said.

“Good, now run along.”

Redtail led him out of the healers’ den. Even though he hadn’t known him for long, Firepaw could tell that Spottedleaf had put him in a bad mood.

“Is she your sister?” he asked.

“She is.”

“She seems nice,” he ventured. Not that he understood a lot of the things she’d been saying.

“You’re still young,” he replied simply. “Let’s go into the forest. If you’re staying with us, then the most important thing will be teaching you the territory.”

At that, he forgot all about the tension between Redtail and Spottedleaf. “Alright!”


	8. Chapter 5

They first followed the ravine down to a sandy dip in the forest, aptly named the Sandy Hollow, where training took place. Firepaw dabbed at the grit, all too similar to the litter from home. It was much finer, though, and obviously not used like litter. It looked like a good place to wrestle and play. Redtail pulled him along before he could try it out, telling him that the other apprentices would need it soon.

He led him along the stream that flowed into the hollow, the red tip of his tail tickling Firepaw’s nose. In the distance, he could hear even more rushing water, and soon the forest opened up into a vast shimmering shape of a river, easily as wide as the Thunderclan camp.

The breeze blew the scents of many unfamiliar cats across the water, fishy and sour to the taste. Redtail chuckled as he wrinkled his nose.

“Across the waters are Riverclan,” he explained, “and it looks like you’re already learning their smell.”

“I thought fish were supposed to smell good!”

“Not when they’re left out, I’m afraid. The river here marks our border with the Rivers,” he said. “Be careful here. We’re currently at war with them. They’ve snatched the Sunningrocks from us again.”

“Sunningrocks?” That sounded nice.

“Mmhm. I’ll show you.”

Along the way, he told him that he wasn’t to leave camp without permission or a warrior with him, and if that warrior wasn’t Redtail, then he was to be informed. Those rules would become more lenient the closer he was to becoming a warrior, but until he knew the forest, how to hunt, and how to fight, it was best to stay with another cat.

It was odd to think how, back in the Houses, he never would have been given such restrictions. Princess would never be by his side as he explored deeper into the town and in other gardens, but he didn’t think Redtail or anyone in Thunderclan was trying to restrict his freedom. Not a single cat he’d met so far had shied away from the dark reality of forest life. Death lay around every corner, it seemed, and all the clan wanted was for him to be old enough to have the freedom he deserved.

And anyways, Thunderclan did plenty of other things that he couldn’t deny were downright genius when it came to surviving in the woods. They knew what they were doing, and he was willing to trust them enough to shut up and let them teach him.

“You know that’s pretty smart,” Firepaw said. “Getting one teacher per cat.”

“It’s a time-tested tradition,” he agreed. “And it helps a cat forge bonds in their clan with cats that aren’t their family as well.”

“How long does it take to become a warrior?”

“For most, six moons,” he replied. “But it isn’t unlikely to be training for longer, or to be made a warrior a bit sooner. It depends on the apprentice, their mentor, and our relations with other clans.”

“Huh. How many clans are there?”

“Four, including Thunderclan.”

“And we all live in the forest trying to do the same thing?” he said, a little in disbelief. “I get wanting to stay out here and be away from humans, at least so far, but why work against other cats?”

“It’s not that we work against them. The clans are each unique, with their own set of laws and traditions and stories,” he said. “We would lose the things that make us who we are if we were one, so we remain separate. And we don’t always work against each other, either—arguments pop up, however, and the Warrior Code helps us settle those arguments.”

“The Warrior Code?”

“You’ll learn more about it soon enough,” he said, “but it’s the shared law between all the clans, a system of honour that helps us settle disputes without needless violence and savagery. For instance, murder is against the Warrior Code, as it’s not honourable. If disputes come to battle, then skill is more important in winning that battle than killing.”

“Oh, okay.”

“Cats can still die of their wounds and of infection, mind you,” he added, “but by that point, it’s up to Starclan’s will, the will of the victim, and the skill of a clan’s healer to determine their fate. It’s not murder—simply a consequence of honourable conflict.”

He didn’t quite get it, but hopefully soon he would.

They came to a stop at the edge of a cleared area with long, smooth rocks. There Redtail sat at that edge, and for the first time Firepaw saw the tiniest hint of annoyance in the twitch of his tail as he glared across the stone.

“Sunningrocks was long ago blessed by the god Hiverne,” he said. “You see, in the daytime he watches with his single eye, judging and condemning any cat who dares step out in his light. That is why we mostly stay out at night or twilight. We’re only safe from Hiverne in camp or on the Sunningrocks.”

The fur along his spine rose. “But I’ve been out in the sun.”

“Hiverne’s grudge is against the clan cats,” he assured him. “But now that you are one of us, you will need to watch yourself when you’re in unblessed areas. Be lucky you’re not Shadowclan, though. They stick to the night completely to keep away from Brightwatch.”

“What? How? What happened?”

Redtail sat, seeming to settle in for a story. “This is a story that you’ll hear from the elders in due time, and a story you _should_ hear from them, but I’ll give you the short version.

“Long ago, Silverpelt, who is the night sky and her eyes the moon, came into conflict with Hiverne. All the clans know the story, but the reason for their fight is never the same. In Thunderclan, it was a matter of miscommunication, some little made up thing that caused the two to squabble.

“It ended in war. Shadowclan sided with Silverpelt, who eventually won by taking one of Hiverne’s eyes, but they suffered by only being able to come out at night or else incur Hiverne’s fury.”

“And that’s all real?”

“It is…a legend,” Redtail said carefully. “Many cats believe it is real. A few cats don’t think so at all. I think it has some truth, but that we, who are not gods, won’t grasp that full truth. I’ve seen bad things happen to cats in the sunlight, but the light is no place for a cat, Hiverne or not. In the end, I will leave that for you to decide.”

After mulling it over for a second, he decided to wait to hear the full story from the elders. He had other questions, anyways. “What happens if you go out in the sun, then?”

He shrugged. “Could be anything. Bad luck, mostly, but I have heard of cats going blind or deaf, or being killed just days afterwards. I suppose it depends on what you’re doing and how long you’re there. Again, you’re lucky you’re not Shadowclan: some say that they burn to a crisp in the sun, but I’ve never seen a Shadow in the sun to tell you otherwise.”

Regardless of how real Hiverne and his anger was, Firepaw decided to just avoid the sun for now.

They continued onwards from there until a fence line came into view. As they walked along it, the trees turned from lush leaved to pointy needles. Powerful smells of wood and sap came from the other side of the fence.

“The Tree-cut Place,” Redtail said. “It’s exactly what it sounds like: humans cut down trees and bring them here to be cut up more.”

They rounded the corner of the fence and not long after came to fences that Firepaw recognized.

“The Houses!” he said.

“That’s right. We occasionally get town cats and rogues in this area too, though,” he said. “So we always make sure to mark it well.”

“Hey, my friend said that ferals—clan cats leave bones on the border,” he said. “Is that true?”

“Never. No matter prey, predator, or cat, all bones must be buried. If left out, you risk spirits haunting the area, and enough of those discontented enough will cause a lot of troubles.”

“Oh.”

“You’ll learn more about that,” he promised. “But if you ever see bones lying out, take a moment to bury them. It’ll save you a restless spirit.”

“I don’t…really know what a spirit is,” he said awkwardly.

“Oh, sorry.” He laughed, ears twisting back. “Right. Spirits are… You cannot see or hear them, but they can see and hear you. Most won’t touch you, but if they become discontented enough, they start causing trouble.”

“Weird.” But fascinating. Princess had never told him about stuff like this! Did she even know?

The moons were most way around the sky by the time they reached the road. Firepaw could hardly keep his head up as Redtail explained the dangers of the road—a lesson that Princess had already swatted into his head a million times.

“New apprentice? Haven’t seen you around.”

Firepaw whipped around at the voice in his ear, but there was nothing out of place, no nearby cats or anything. Even when he scented the air, he couldn’t smell anything except for the road.

“What’s wrong?” Redtail asked.

“Someone spoke to me! Do you smell anything?”

Redtail angled his ears forward. “What did they say?”

“That they’d never seen me before.”

“Hm. It could have been a stone guardian,” he said. “Most cats never hear a peep out of them, though. I never have.”

“A _what?”_

Redtail’s whiskers twitched, his tail curling with amusement. “I suppose house cats don’t know a lot about the magics you can find. They tend to avoid humans, though, so it’s no surprise.”

“Magic?”

“Little unexplained things. The stone guardians are rocks, but they talk—mostly to each other—and love stories and gossip. It’s because of magic that spirits exist. Magic is not the domain of living cats, though. It’s the domain of gods and, occasionally, Starclan.”

His head spun. “There’s so much to know.”

“There is. I think we’ll save the rest for another time. You seem like you’ve had enough.”

“No, wait, I can keep going!”

He quieted beneath Redtail’s look. “I know what you’re doing, Firepaw, but a warrior must know when they can go on no longer,” he said. “As quickly as Bluestar wants you to learn, you are one cat and still very new to the clan. It’s okay if you need to take breaks.”

At that, his shoulders slumped. “Okay. I would like to go back to camp, then. I’m exhausted.”

“You’ll get stronger,” he promised. “Just remember that patience is key.”

“I’ll do my best, Redtail,” he said as he followed him back into the trees. “I just… I know most of them don’t think I can do this just because I’m a house cat. I want to prove them wrong. I think this is for me, you know?”

Redtail glanced over his shoulder, eyes alight with warmth. “I think you’re right, Firepaw. Regardless, you have until the full moon to see how true that really is.”


	9. Chapter 6

“Pleeeease can we go out with Firepaw tonight!”

Firepaw awoke to Greypaw’s whining. He groaned as he raised his head, trying to remember where he was. Memory hit him like a brick: this was the Thunderclan camp, and the reason he was so sore was because of his run through the woods with Redtail the evening prior.

Which made him wonder if he’d gone and slept away the entire night. It was still dark out when he stuck his head out from beneath the fern fronds, though. Relief washed over him.

“Firepaw!” Greypaw exclaimed, interrupting Lionheart mid-sentence. “You’re finally awake! How are you feeling?”

“Sore,” he said, hissing with pain as he stretched. “I can go out, though. If—If it’s okay with Redtail, of course.”

Lionheart’s whiskers twitched. “Did he get to showing you all the borders, Firepaw?”

“No, not quite. I saw the river and the Houses, but only part of the road. Is he even in camp?”

“He’ll be returning shortly,” he said. “Enough time for you to get yourself something to eat.”

“Oh, Firepaw, let me show you!” Greypaw bounded over and gave him a shove that nearly toppled him off his feet. “I’ll show you the best prey—this is your first time eating some, right?”

“Well, Princess once gave me a bite of a sparrow.”

“But you haven’t tasted _mouse!_ Come on!”

The moment he sank his teeth into the still warm mouse body, he decided immediately that he liked this a whole lot more than he liked sparrow. But then again, the sparrow had been winter skinny, more feather than meat. This mouse was plump and perfect, and he finished it all in a few short gulps.

Lionheart was right, too. Redtail strode into the camp once he’d buried the guts that Greypaw had told him to eat around.

He and Greypaw walked up as Redtail replied to Lionheart: “I don’t see why not. In fact, get Whitestorm for me. Ravenpaw might be ready for something small, and a short patrol would be perfect for him.”

“Oh, Ravenpaw! Is he feeling better?” Greypaw asked.

“Well enough,” Redtail replied. “Did you sleep well, Firepaw?”

“I did.”

“Sore?” He shuffled his paws, to which Redtail chuckled. “It’s not just because you’re a kittypet. Every apprentice is sore for the first moon or so of their training.”

“I barely feel sore!” Greypaw said, puffing out his chest.

Redtail’s whiskers twitched. “Not what your mentor told me. Whitestorm!” he greeted as Lionheart came back with a white and grey tom. Behind him was the skinny tom from Spottedleaf’s den, slightly favouring his leg. “And Ravenpaw, how are you feeling?”

“Okay, Redtail,” he mumbled.

Though he sat hunched, he was easily taller than Whitestorm, with the long legs and glossy coat of a grown cat. Mossflower had mentioned that he was the same age as Dustpaw and Sandpaw, though, and they were nearly warriors.

“Good enough for a short patrol?” Ravenpaw nodded. “Let’s get moving, then. We’ll take it slow, but tell us if you need a break, alright?”

Again, Ravenpaw nodded. With that said, they left the camp and headed towards the road. Though Redtail set a brisk walk, Firepaw had enough breath to introduce himself to Ravenpaw properly.

“Hi, Ravenpaw, I’m Rus—er, Firepaw,” he barely caught himself in time. “I’m new to the clan.”

Ravenpaw’s tail had a permanent home between his legs, and when Firepaw spoke to him the fur along his spine began to rise. “H-Hello,” he said. “Dustpaw, er, told me about you.”

Firepaw’s ears pricked up. “He did? What’d he say?”

“Knowing Dustpaw, nothing good,” Greypaw said.

“Um.” Ravenpaw’s ears had twisted back. “Yeah. Pretty much.”

“Oh.”

“I-I’m sure you’re nice, though,” he said hastily. “Sorry.”

Firepaw’s whiskers twitched. “Sorry? You didn’t say mean things, did you?”

“No, of course not, I don’t even know you.”

“Then you don’t need to apologize for something another cat said.”

Ravenpaw didn’t reply, and before Firepaw could try to save the conversation, Redtail called him forward. Though sore, he didn’t want to disappoint him mentor. He scampered up to the front of the patrol, only to be stopped by Redtail’s big, fluffy tail.

“Do you remember what I told you about bones, Firepaw?” he asked.

He didn’t reply right away. Peering over his bushy fur, he spotted the remains of a rabbit, surrounded by the reek of something that smelled almost dog-like, but not quite. Redtail pulled away, letting him walk over.

“You told me that they should be respected and buried,” Firepaw replied, “because when a spirit’s bones haven’t been taken care of properly, it gets angry and can hurt others.”

“Oh, Ravenpaw knows a story about that!” Greypaw exclaimed. “And he tells it really well, too! Right, Ravenpaw?”

Ravenpaw’s green eyes flew wide the moment Greypaw mentioned him, and Firepaw wasn’t the only one to see it. Whitestorm brushed his tail against his flank and spoke to Greypaw. “Ravenpaw has a great voice, but let’s not detract from Redtail’s lesson. If he wants, maybe you can ask him to tell the story later.”

“Aw.”

“The point is,” Redtail continued, “all living things should be respected. Prey may be prey, but it nonetheless died to feed us and our kittens. The least we can do is return it to the earth and let its spirit move on to lusher forests.

“There’s another lesson to be learned here, though. Bury those bones, but in the meantime, tell me what you smell.”

As Firepaw dug his paws into a nearby patch of soft earth, he drew the pungent scents of almost-dog through his teeth, giving it a thorough taste. By the time he buried the bones, though, he still didn’t know what it was. He shook his head at Redtail.

“That’s fox,” he said. “Come here and take a sniff as well, Greypaw and Ravenpaw, I don’t think either of you have smelled this before either.”

“What’s a fox?” Firepaw asked. “Is it dangerous? Why is it on the territory if we have scent markers?”

“Foxes are wily and intelligent,” Redtail replied. “Generally they leave adult cats alone—especially clan cats, because they know we travel together—but they are indeed dangerous.”

“This one smells young,” Whitestorm cut in. “I imagine it hasn’t learned better yet. If it can’t be reasoned with, it’ll be soundly chased off by a patrol. Foxes are why new apprentices must always have their mentors with them: some of you are still small enough at this age that a fox will think you’re easy pickings and attack.”

“And that’s also why kits do not leave camp,” Lionheart added.

“It smells disgusting,” Greypaw muttered.

“It smells a bit like dogs,” Firepaw said. “But I’ve known good dogs.”

“HA!” Lionheart barked out. “I’ve never met a dog who isn’t an ass for the fun of it.”

“Not in front of the ‘paws, Lionheart,” Whitestorm muttered.

Lionheart rolled his eyes. “Small ones especially. Doesn’t matter if it’s young or old, small dogs think they have rights to the world and act like it too. Big dogs, well, they tend to be a bit more reasonable. Still assholes, though.”

“ _Lionheart.”_

Redtail chuckled the entire time as Whitestorm shot Lionheart a sharp look. Again, Lionheart rolled his eyes, leaning his head towards the older cat. “Who taught me those words, Whitestorm?”

Whitestorm grumbled something unintelligible at him, to which Lionheart giggled again. Firepaw could only assume Whitestorm had been the one to mentor Lionheart.

“Moving on,” Redtail said. “We’ll finish showing Firepaw the Shadowclan border, and then take him to see Fourtrees. After that, all three of you can rest for the day, maybe listen to the elders and help clean their den if needed.”

The road was a simple enough lesson. Redtail had told him yesterday and Princess too had told him a million times what cars could do to a cat, recounting tales of the mangled corpses she’d found on the curb. No cat could survive a car, she’d told him. And any cat who did must have someone—or something—watching over them. She never knew anyone who had, though.

Just the thought that a cat could die so easily, without even a second’s thought, sent chills down Firepaw’s spine. He’d been _in_ cars. He hoped he would never be under one.

“What is Shadowclan like?” he asked to take his mind off of cars.

“No better than dogs,” Lionheart muttered.

“Well they sure smell as bad as them,” Greypaw said. “I didn’t know a cat could smell this bad.”

Firepaw privately agreed. “You said they can’t go out in the sun, right Redtail?”

Redtail’s ears pricked. “Good memory, Firepaw. Yes, Shadowclan were banished from Hiverne’s light after siding with Silverpelt, so they only hunt in the night. Their eyes are perfect for it, though. They can see in the blackest of nights, when Silverpelt’s eyes are closed, to launch devastating ambushes.”

“He’s right. Nasty motherfuckers in battle,” Lionheart commented.

Whitestorm swatted him hard across the ear, enough to make him yelp. Greypaw laughed at him as Whitestorm cleared his throat and said: “Raggedstar and Bluestar are on good terms, so you have nothing to worry about. At Gatherings, Shadows tend to be a bit quiet and a bit jumpy. You can easily tell them apart from any clan, though: no ears and round bodies.”

Lionheart rubbed his ear. “I’ll take a River over a Shadow any day. Shadows have no sense of humour.”

“You think the Shadows are bad, try to make a Wind laugh,” Redtail said wryly. “Let’s keep going, though.”

They followed the road until they reached the stream, the same one that fed into the river across the territories. Redtail led them along a tree to cross, as it had swollen with the spring rains. It took everything in Firepaw to ignore the fearful thoughts of slipping and falling into the swirling water.

Soon after, the ground began to slope upwards.

“Up this way is Fourtrees,” Redtail said. “If you’re awake in the day for whatever reason, you should stay away because it’s filled with humans when Hiverne’s looking. They especially like to bring their dogs here. Tethered, fortunately.”

“Why can humans go out in Hiverne’s sight?” Firepaw asked.

“I assume because they never wronged him, the same as Windclan,” he replied. “But it’s not our place to determine Hiverne’s relationship with the other creatures of the world, just ours.”

They moved from bushes to bushes, heading up the slope towards the four massive oak trees. As they crawled into the bushes at the top, Redtail started speaking again.

“Every time Silverpelt’s eyes are wide open, the four clans gather at Fourtrees in peace and discuss the happenings of the past moon, including welcoming rank changes. It’s the only time the clans are forced to be peaceful. If fighting occurs in view of Silverpelt, she’ll call a terrible storm to put an end to the Gathering.”

“Really?” Firepaw said. When they stopped at the human path bifurcating the woods, he looked up at the fading night sky, as if the faint images of Silverpelt’s eyes would cloud over that very moment.

“I’ve seen it happen,” Whitestorm said. “It’s truly something to behold.”

“I can’t wait to go to my first Gathering,” Greypaw announced. “I want to meet all the other apprentices. I bet they’re so weird, since they come from other clans.”

“But I come from the Houses,” said Firepaw. “Do you think I’m weird?”

“Yes,” Greypaw said at the same time Ravenpaw said, “No?”

“But he is weird,” Greypaw said. “Who would want to live that close to humans? Why?”

“B-But he came here,” Ravenpaw pointed out. “He’s more, more like us?”

Firepaw didn’t say anything. It was true that he’d come to the forest, answering the calls that had been breathed in his ears since he could first conceive of the trees and the leaves and the sunshine outdoors. But some things still didn’t make sense to him. The forest was great, good wondrous freedom, but it was still dangerous. Bluestar had told him as much when they’d first met. At least with humans, a cat would be safe, loved, and happy.

_What happens when they don’t love us anymore?_ Princess’s voice rattled in his head, mocking that belief. He didn’t have an argument for it.

“We’re here.”

Redtail’s voice pulled him from his thoughts and to the clearing which lay beyond the bushes. Four massive oak trees, bigger than anything he’d ever seen, stood tall behind a huge rock with a flat top. Was this where the clans gathered? He couldn’t possibly imagine it filled with cats. The thought alone filled him with anxiety.

“Redtail! Hail!”

On the other end of the clearing, where the land sloped up to moorland, came another patrol of cats. Firepaw glanced at the rest of his patrol, but the older cats’ fur was flat and their tails raised in greeting as they strode forth to meet the strange cats. Greypaw and Ravenpaw looked as nervous as he felt, but nonetheless all three followed.

The leader of this patrol was a spindly black tom with massive, claw torn ears. His front left paw was twisted out of shape, making Firepaw’s gut churn, but it didn’t slow the tom as he trotted up to meet Redtail.

“Deadfoot,” Redtail greeted him with a dip of his head. “How’s prey running?”

“With spring finally here, the rabbits are out of their burrows and we’re eating well,” he replied.

Eating well? These cats looked even scrawnier than Thunderclan. Upon closer inspection, though, Firepaw realized that they weren’t thinner so much as they were more slightly built, with long graceful limbs and skinny tails, like Hiverne had reached his paws down and stretched each one out.

“This is Wrenpaw and Owlpaw’s last patrol as apprentices as well,” he continued, flicking his tail at the two brown tabby toms. “We’ve just completed their assessments. By the time Hiverne’s eye is on the land, Windclan will be that much stronger.”

Though Redtail didn’t flinch or growl, Firepaw couldn’t help but think that sounded like a threat.

“Congratulations, you two,” he said warmly to the young cats. They dipped their heads and thanked him. “Thunderclan has plenty upcoming warriors of its own. Ravenpaw, Firepaw, and Greypaw here have all just started their training, but they have plenty of potential.”

How did he know that? They’d barely done anything besides tour the territory.

He had other things to worry about, though, as the Winds’ eyes scanned the three of them…then came back to settle on him. The pale grey tom beside Wrenpaw, whose ears were torn to mere stubs, spoke first.

“You don’t see pelts like that often,” he said. “Not in clan cats or rogues, that’s for sure.”

Firepaw burned beneath the Winds’ gaze. Was it really that obvious that he was a house cat?

“Firepaw is new to the clan,” Redtail said, sweeping his tail across his flank, “and my new apprentice as well.”

The Winds’ eyes had gone to Redtail as he’d spoken, but when they returned to Firepaw it was with a hint of awe.

“He must be something if he was entrusted to you,” Deadfoot said. “I look forward to seeing your development, Firepaw, regardless of your roots.”

“His roots?” the pale tom growled. “He’s obviously a kittypet. I didn’t realize the Thunders were that desperate.”

“There’s no need for insults, Tornears,” said Deadfoot, his eyes fixed on Redtail. “This isn’t the first time the Thunders have taken in kittypets, and it’s made them no less the formidable opponent, has it?”

“Precisely,” Redtail said. “And if you insult my apprentice again, Tornears, I’ll save my claws for you in the next battle.”

He flicked his tail derisively, but said nothing. Behind Redtail, Lionheart stifled a delighted snicker.

  
“It was good seeing you, Redtail,” Deadfoot said, acting as if the comment had never been made. “We’ll meet again at the next Gathering. And good luck to you as well, ‘paws.” He dipped his head, then walked away.

Only Wrenpaw lingered, cocking his head curiously at Firepaw. “You really a kittypet?” he asked.

“I _was_ a house cat,” he replied. “But I’m a Thunderclan cat now.”

He blinked. “That you are, friend. The forest isn’t a place to play, though. Maybe you’re up to snuff, maybe not, but don’t go forcing yourself to be something you’re not.”

He gazed back evenly. “If anything,” he said, “I’m finally becoming something I was always meant to be.”

His tail curled. “Good. I’ll keep an eye out for you, Firepaw.”

“You too. Congrats on becoming a warrior!” he added as Wrenpaw trotted away.

With a wave of his tail to show that he’d heard, he took off up the slope, springing up and disappearing in the blink of an eye.

“WOW!” Greypaw exclaimed. “I can’t believe that happened! I thought we were going to fight!”

Lionheart flicked a paw across his ear. “We’re on good terms with the Winds,” he said. “And anyways: Fourtrees is neutral ground. You don’t spill blood here.”

Greypaw sniffed. “Good for them.” He sat back on his haunches and raised his paws to bat at an imaginary enemy. “If we had fought, I’d break their skinny little spines like a mouse’s!”

Lionheart gave Greypaw a shove in the chest, easily toppling him backwards. “Wrenpaw or Owlpaw alone could breathe and beat you in a fight, ‘paw, so quit your posturing.”

Belly up, Greypaw sighed. “They won’t always be able to.”

“I just…” Firepaw trailed off.

“What’s wrong?” Redtail prompted.

“I just don’t see why we have to fight,” he said. “We’re all cats. I understand now why we live in separate clans, because we’re different, but being different doesn’t mean we can’t all get along, right?”

“Normally we do,” he said. “As I mentioned, Bluestar and Raggedstar are on good terms. Breezestar is also at peace with Thunderclan. It’s not always as simple as being friends, though. The reason we are warring with Riverclan is because they’ve not only stolen some of our territory, but because they’ve now killed one of our strongest warriors.”

“Not that there was any love loss for Bluestar when Thistleclaw died,” Lionheart pointed out. To Whitestorm, he added, “Sorry, White.”

But Whitestorm merely flicked an ear. “I gave my father no sleepless nights when he died. In some ways, Thistleclaw spelled his own demise. He was always wanting for a fight with the Rivers after mother’s accident, wont for pacing their border and worsening our relations well before they took Sunningrocks from us.”

The others nodded solemnly, but Firepaw didn’t know what to say. He’d never met anyone who’d lost someone—except for maybe Princess, but she never, ever talked about anyone she might have lost. He began to wonder if Redtail had lost anyone. And what about Ravenpaw and Greypaw? He knew Greypaw had siblings and a mother, but what about a father? And he hadn’t heard anything about Ravenpaw’s family.

“Everything alright?”

Firepaw jerked away from his thoughts to find that the others had walked back into the bushes, leaving him and Redtail alone in the clearing.

“Have you lost someone, Redtail?” he asked.

Redtail’s ears twisted back. “I recently lost my parents,” he admitted. “And my apprentice before you, Cherrypaw.”

“O-Oh. I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright. It’s a fact of life. They’re with Starclan, now, where they’ll never hurt for food or warmth again.”

Really? Was that what Starclan did? He wasn’t sure he understood. A dead cat was gone, wasn’t it? Unless their “spirits” went to Starclan.

“Nearly every cat in the clan has lost someone,” he continued. “Greypaw and Ravenpaw are young, but Greypaw lost both his littermates in the cold. Ravenpaw hasn’t lost someone, thank the stars, but his mother, Robinwing, is ill. One day, if you stay with us, you’ll lose someone too.”

He looked Firepaw directly in the eye. “Are you ready to face that? Are you willing to stay in the clan, knowing that one day you might lose someone close to you?”

He hesitated. “If…I don’t stay, I won’t be able to get close to any of you to begin with,” he said. “And…I think I belong out here. I had a dream.”

Redtail’s ears faced forward and his expression became intense. “A dream?”

“It wasn’t special,” he said hastily, squirming beneath his look. “I just dreamt about the forest a lot.”

He didn’t know why he didn’t mention the furless cat. It felt a secret that needed to be kept, for some reason.

“Maybe Starclan was calling you,” Redtail mused. “Regardless of what your dreams meant, though, I think you’re right. I think you do belong here. But we’ll know for sure by full moon, now, won’t we?”

“Yeah.” But he had no plans to leave.

“For now, let’s head back to camp.”

Firepaw followed him into the bushes, only to hear something whisper from behind. All the fur on his spine began to spike as a grating voice filled his ears: “What was your dream really about, Firepaw? Why don’t you tell us?”

He whipped around, but there was no one there. No one except the Great Rock, standing tall and silent in the middle of the clearing.


	10. Chapter 7

The next seven days of his test run with Thunderclan flew by. Most of his training was with Greypaw and Ravenpaw, and their schedules were so different from Dustpaw and Sandpaw that the only time he saw the two of them was when they were sleeping. Though he had met Sandpaw once.

“So you’re the kittypet?”

Sandpaw had spoken from behind while he chose a mouse (his new favourite) from the pile of fresh-kill. She was a sandy tortoiseshell, more fawn tabby than she was grey, with brilliant green eyes and white paws and chest.

“Yeah, my name’s Firepaw,” he said. “What’s your name?”

“I already know your name, I was at the ceremony,” she retorted. “And you should know me.” She puffed out her chest.

“Oh, well, I just got here, so I’m still learning everyone’s names.”

“My _father_ is your _mentor_ ,” she growled.

He stared blankly at her. He didn’t recall Redtail mentioning having a daughter—or even a mate, for that matter.

She groaned. “Are you stupid? I’m Sandpaw. _Redtail’s daughter_. How can you possibly not know that? I bet next you’ll tell me that you don’t even know who Bluestar’s kit and grandkits are. I’ll give you a hint: you train with one of them.”

“I’m sorry, he never mentioned you,” he said. “It’s…nice, to meet you, Sandpaw.”

She sniffed. “You could at least try to sound more genuine. I’m not his daughter for nothing, you know. I’m one of the clan’s best hunters, and I’m still an apprentice—of course I’ll be a warrior soon. I bet you haven’t caught a single sparrow. Bet you never will, either.”

And just like that, he’d finally dropped any pretense of politeness. “You’re right, Sandpaw, I should try to sound more genuine: it’s not nice to meet you, and the reason I didn’t realize that Redtail was your father is probably because he at least has manners. No family resemblance there, I guess.”

He’d grabbed his mouse and walked away before she could respond. The shocked look on her face was well worth it, though. Later, Greypaw told him the reason she’d probably been so surprised was because most of the clan treated her like the perfect deputy’s daughter that she was. He hoped that she would think twice before messing with him, now that she’d gotten a taste of her own bitter medicine.

Otherwise, he’d spent most of the night in camp. Redtail had told him the fox had been spotted, so he, Ravenpaw, and Greypaw were to stay in camp until a patrol had chased it out of the territory. It was probably the most time he’d spent in the camp awake, and it left his fur crawling. Not from staying in one place, but from the stolen looks from the other cats in the camp.

But at least he had Ravenpaw. It was impossible to get more than two words out of him, but just having him there and knowing that _he_ didn’t care that he was a house cat was nice. Greypaw would’ve been there as well, but he was visiting with his mother, Mossflower, and his younger siblings.

“Did Greypaw have littermates?” he finally decided to ask, a question that had been gnawing at him for days now. “I’ve never heard of a queen having one kitten—my mother had five including me—but I guess anything’s possible, right?”

“Oh, uh,” Ravenpaw averted his eyes, ears falling, “no, you’re right, it’s not really something that happens. His littermates died during the famine.”

He swallowed hard. He couldn’t imagine any of his littermates dying, couldn’t even imagine _Princess_ dying. “I’ve heard that a lot of cats died during the winter before I came.”

“We were the biggest clan in the forest before the famine,” he said. “I don’t remember much about her, but my older sister, Cherrypaw, died. Same with Amberpaw, Featherwhisker, Cricketleap, Thrushpelt, Dappletail, Rosetail, Thistleclaw…”

“I’m sorry.”

Ravenpaw sighed through his nose. “It’s okay. They’re with Starclan.”

“I don’t get that, though. What makes you so sure that we go anywhere when we die?”

“I guess most of us can’t know for certain what becomes of our clanmates when they die,” he admitted, “but a healer can speak to Starclan and when a leader becomes a ‘star, the ceremony is conducted by Starclan, and both can tell you that they’ve seen familiar faces there.”

“Huh. Are all winters that hard then?”

“No definitely not.” He shook his head. “It’s the only winter I’ve seen, but from what the warriors say it’s definitely not typical. That doesn’t mean it’s easy, though. The Snows are cruel and hungry every winter, it’s just that they were hungrier than usual this year.”

“You’re talking about snow like it’s an actual thing,” Firepaw said.

“The Snows are a thing,” he says.

“How so?” Firepaw prompted, leaning in. Greypaw had mentioned that Ravenpaw was an incredible storyteller—could he weasel a story out of him now?

To his surprise, Ravenpaw uncurled, something other than his normal anxiety taking a place in his eyes as he slipped into something warm and comfy. It alit him with an unexpected wisdom, breathing the words of an old soul into his lungs as he readjusted and opened his mouth to tell the story.

“The Snows is a slow and silent thing,” he began. “Creeping and plodding, seeping its frigid roots up through the ground as Hiverne grows tired and the days become short. Silverpelt may be kind, and she may bring us the embrace of giving night, but she holds all of our ancestors within her. Cats are happy and sad, good and bad—and once a year the bad builds up and it seeps through Silverpelt’s thick, grey fur and falls as snow.

“To be clear, the Snows isn’t a living thing,” he continued. “Not in the way that we are. But all that sadness and all the badness, it coalesces, it becomes a conscious need, an angry greed. It sees the cats still alive, able to be happy and warm, to run through the woods and live the life we were so graciously given, and it becomes jealous.

“So it hides the prey. It smothers the trees and the plants and it covers our home and it freezes the river, gripped by the agony of its quasi-existence. It takes lives like something wronged, carries out its own personal vendetta like the stone claws of an angry god, and all we cats can do is work harder, stay warmer, and hope to make it out alive.

“And we always do. Soon, Hiverne’s nap is over. Soon, Silverpelt no longer needs to weep the badness out of her. And as Hiverne opens his eye, the Snows finally gets the warmth it so desperately craves. It lifts off the plants, it leaves the river, and it frees the prey, and summer returns—until the next winter, when the cycle begins anew.

“But cats still die,” he finished. “It’s all cyclic, you know. Born like the spring, dead like the winter. If you stay, one day you’ll see someone die too, Firepaw.”

“Redtail said that to me too,” he said. “I guess that’s something I’ll have to live with.”

He nodded. “I guess so.” After a moment, he added, now with the clumsy demeanour that Firepaw had grown used to: “I hope you stay. I like Greypaw, but he’s…a lot, sometimes. You’re easier to be around.”

He couldn’t help but think of Smudge, who couldn’t take Princess’s intensity. And though Greypaw didn’t have quite the same aggressive energy that Princess did, he did understand how Greypaw’s boundless enthusiasm could wear on someone like Ravenpaw.

“I want to stay,” he said. “Tomorrow night’s the full moon, so that’s when I make my decision, right? Well I’ve decided that I want to stay.”

“That’s good.”

Silence fell between them as Ravenpaw began to groom his tail. Firepaw watched Greypaw play with the kittens across the clearing, wondering if Redtail would be back in time to train.

After some time, Dustpaw, a brown tabby tom and the other apprentice besides Sandpaw, trotted into the camp, tail high. He disappeared into Bluestar’s den beneath the tumble of rocks.

In real time, Firepaw watched news spread across the camp. From the small brown molly lying just in earshot of the den to an equally small and brown tom, and next to Mossflower, Greypaw, and the kits. A gray tortoiseshell, listening nearby, ducked her head into the elder’s den.

Soon, a black tom with odd, downy fur walked over. Firepaw wished he knew his name, but there were so many cats in the clan that it was hard to remember them all. All he knew about this tom was that he looked nervous to be approaching them, with his tail close to the ground and a hesitation to his pawsteps.

“Ravenpaw?” he spoke quietly.

Yet Ravenpaw still jumped, whipping around to face the tom. “Father? Yes?”

The tom’s ears twisted back, but he nonetheless cleared his throat. “The fox has been chased away,” he said. “So I thought—perhaps we can, I can show you a few hunting tips?”

Ravenpaw stared at him like a mouse caught in the hungry sights of an owl. His gaze darted towards the healer’s den—of all places—and then back. “Uh… I-I—I need to talk to Whitestorm. About. About training. Sorry.” He coughed and turned away.

The tom stepped away, mouth open with a mind to make a weak protest. He faltered, looking towards the healer’s den as well, then turned and walked away.

“That’s your father?” Firepaw said. “Why don’t you want to hunt with him?” Ravenpaw said nothing, his ears flattened to his head. “If I knew my father, I think I’d like to hunt with him. I hunted with my sister, Princess, sometimes.”

“You wouldn’t understand,” he mumbled.

“Well—Well, I might, if you told me…” Ravenpaw shook his head. “Okay. I hope everything’s okay, though.”

“I _wish_ everything was okay,” he mumbled bitterly.

Firepaw never got the chance to comfort him as the rest of the fox patrol—Whitestorm, Lionheart, Speckletail, Goldenflower, Sandpaw, and of course Redtail—marched back into camp. Immediately, the clan swarmed around them, commending their success.

When Bluestar came out of her den, however, her tail was lashing. She strode right up to Redtail, who stood his ground as he faced down the tall, angry molly.

“When did I give you the order to chase that fox out?” she spat.

His ears flattened. “Why do I need an order to chase a _fox_ out of our territory? I’m your deputy.”

“You didn’t consult me.”

“When I suggested that I take the older apprentices out to help chase away the fox, you brushed me off,” he responded, his voice shockingly even despite the fact that his tail was lashing too. “I took the matter into my own hands because you’re too focused on the Rivers right now to handle the smaller problems in our territory.”

“I didn’t tell you to do that, Redtail.”

“If I can’t make decisions on my own, then how am I any better than a senior warrior?” She curled her lip at him. “I’m trying to do my duty as your deputy, Bluestar. What else did you choose me for?”

She brushed past him, heading for the tunnel out of the camp. “We’ll discuss this in my den later, Redtail.”

The other cats from the fox patrol cleared a wide path for her, then looked to Redtail as he stared after her, tail flicking back and forth with increasing agitation. Finally, Whitestorm rested a paw on his shoulder.

“She’s under a lot of stress,” he said. “You did good.”

Some other cats walked up and the conversation became muddled as a hint of normalcy returned to camp. Firepaw glanced at Ravenpaw.

“Does that happen often?” he asked.

Ravenpaw shrugged. “Bluestar can be…a control freak,” he muttered beneath his breath. “The last time I saw her that mad was when Redtail confronted her and Spottedleaf for burying Thistleclaw under a soul tree.”

“I’ve heard the warriors talk about that before. What’s the deal—”

“Firepaw!” Redtail interrupted him mid-thought. Firepaw pretended not to notice the annoyed looks of some of the clan as their deputy broke away from them to walk over, as if they thought Redtail should be paying attention to them instead of his own apprentice. “Now that the fox is gone, I have a task for you. Ready to stretch your legs?”

He leapt to his feet. “I’m dying to!”

His tail curled over his back. “That’s the enthusiasm I like to hear! Go see Spottedleaf and ask her to show you what star studs are—I’ll meet you once I’ve given my report to Bluestar, alright?”

“Got it!”

He darted over to the healer’s den, and in his excitement blundered through the new fern growth and nearly onto a brown tabby lying in one of the nests. She spat furiously at him, and he narrowly avoided her swat.

“Watch it, kittypet!” she snarled. “You’re just as clumsy as my pathetic excuse for a son. Crashing through the bushes like that too,” she scoffed, “it’s a wonder what Redtail sees in you—”

She cut herself off with her own loud hacking, and for the first time Firepaw realized that she was horrifically skinny. He’d thought the rest of the clan was thin, but this molly was even more so, her ribs sticking through her thin pelt like roots arching against a covering of moss. He backed away, struck with panic. What should he do?

Nothing. Spottedleaf walked into the clearing holding in her paws a couple leaves. “Oh Robinwing, yelling at the poor apprentice? You’ve caused yourself a coughing fit.”

Robinwing sat doubled over. Her coughing fit had drained everything out of her, and she barely managed to lap up the leaves that Spottedleaf placed in front of her.

“It was my fault, ma’am,” Firepaw said. “I was excited, and I ran in and surprised her.”

“Nonsense,” she said. “She had no right getting as worked up as she did. What can I do for you, sweetpaw?”

Firepaw glanced at Robinwing, but now that her coughing fit had subsided she’d curled up once more, back to the two of them. “Redtail told me to come here and ask you to show me something called star studs?”

“Ah, yes! I know why he wants you to know about those.”

She disappeared into the back of the den, where a large stone lay overtop the narrow entrance to a small cave. She re-emerged with a pawful of spiny balls of bark or wood and lay them before him. A sharp smell wafted from them, making his nose itch.

“Star studs,” she began, “grow at the top of star leaf bushes. Thunderclan sends new apprentices to collect them often as walking practice. It teaches dexterity in your paws as well. They require a twist to remove,” she mimed the motion, and he immediately felt less confident about the task ahead of him, “but they’re good to chew on to help numb minor aches.”

“A plant can really do that?” he said.

“Plants can do many things.” She leaned closer. “Now, don’t tell Red I told you this, but star studs, if you chew on enough of them, will relax you and make the world pass like a dream. It’s a marvelous experience.”

“Oh.”

“It dulls your senses, though. Don’t do it alone.”

He felt acutely uncomfortable at the thought of anything dulling his senses. “Alright, I’ll remember that, ma’am.”

“Good.” She gave him a surprise lick between the ears. “Ah, Redtail! Perfecting timing—your ‘paw is all educated and ready to go stud hunting. Oh! Except for one thing…” She stuck a paw into the cave and withdrew a pelt. “You can put anything you collect in here, sweetpaw.”

He sat back on his haunches. As he clumsily handled it in untrained paws, he realized that it was the skin of a rabbit or something similar, shaped and bent to create a pouch. He stared at it, amazed. He’d only ever seen humans use stuff like this.

“How did you make this?” he said, looking at her in awe.

“Oh, the elders and queens make them from time to time.” She shrugged. “Fuzzypelt, too, when the mood strikes him. They’re made with the skin of rabbits. Very useful.”

“That’s amazing!”

“It is what it is.”

“Thank you, Spot,” Redtail said. “Let’s get going, Firepaw. The night is only so long, and there’s not enough underbrush yet to make me comfortable risking the sun.”

A jolt of panic struck him. “Yes, sir!”

Together, they jogged out of the camp and took off into the forest.


	11. Chapter 8

Star leaf bushes grew among the conifers near the Tree Cut Place. Even though he’d been with the clan for less than a week, Firepaw couldn’t help but be nervous in this part of the forest, where the pines choked out most other undergrowth, leaving him barren and exposed. He felt more comfortable the closer they got to the Houses, but in a way it left him feeling guilty.

“Now that you know the right way to remove them, we’re going to split up,” Redtail told him. “It will only be for a little bit, and I’ll be within yelling distance if anything goes wrong, alright?”

“Alright,” he said, “but why?”

His whiskers twitched. “Always with the questions, ‘paw,” he chuckled. “I’m going to gather a few other things that Spot needs—plants that you aren’t experienced enough to handle. This will save time. I promise I won’t be long.”

“Okay.”

They separated, and he kept collecting even though all four of his paws ached. The clan cats had a point, though: without this skill, he wouldn’t be able to get any of these things, or even carry the pouch to put them in. Though he wondered when he would get a leather belt like everyone else so that he didn’t have to haul it around in his paws or teeth the entire time.

As he drew closer to the Houses, he was filled with the nearby scent of the border. Unlike before, he no longer wrinkled his nose. It felt good that the smells of Thunderclan were no longer unfamiliar.

While he reached for the studs at the very top of a bush, though, he spotted a pale shape out the corner of his eye.

“Princess!” he exclaimed. He put the pouch between his teeth and sprinted towards her.

She leapt down from the fence to meet him. “Where did you run off to, Rusty?” she asked coolly. “Smudge was spouting some shit about you running off to be a wild cat?”

He dropped the pouch. “I did! Kinda. I joined Thunderclan, the cats who live here in the forest, and my name’s Firepaw now.”

She wrapped her tail neatly around her paws, eyeing him curiously. “Fire…paw.”

His tail began to droop. “I really like it,” he insisted. “I love the woods, Princess, and I think Thunderclan is great too. It’s way better than living with a human. You aren’t mad, are you?”

Her tail tip tapped idly on the forest floor. “Just wondering what mother would think.”

“I think she’d be happy that I’m doing what I want,” he offered.

“Well I can’t keep a very good eye on you if you’re off gallivanting in the woods with ferals.”

“Clan cats,” he corrected. “And it’s okay. I have the entire clan to watch out for me now.”

“Mm. You just met these cats. I wouldn’t go getting cozy with them or anything.”

“Yeah, but…” He shuffled his feet. “If they wanted to hurt me, then wouldn’t they have already done it?”

The tip of her tail began to twitch faster. “A part of me worries they already have.”

“Wha… _what?_ ”

“I’ll withhold judgement,” she said simply, “ _for now._ ”

That made him not want to say a thing. To spitefully keep all these new joys to himself. But Princess was his sister, and the cat he felt closest to. He couldn’t stay mad at her. Especially since, the more he learned about her, the more he began to suspect that her life hadn’t been all sunshine and flowers. She was just worried about him, was all.

“I promise you that they’re taking care of me,” he said. “Even though I can’t hunt, they let me eat—and when I _do_ learn how to hunt, I’m going to catch enough prey to feed the entire clan.” He puffed out his chest with pride, but Princess’s eyes narrowed. “And—And they’re teaching me these things—it’s really smart, Princess. I—”

At once, he cut himself off. “I mean. They’re teaching me all I need to know.”

“No, keep going. What’s really smart?” He laid back his ears, unable to meet her gaze. “Well? You want to talk about this so much, tell me what you’re learning then. It can’t be all bad, I suppose. The ferals must know a thing or two about fighting.”

“I don’t know, Princess, I don’t want to go sharing their secrets. They trust me.”

Her ears flattened. “Since when do you keep secrets, Rusty?”

“Since I have important secrets to keep!” he said. “I wanna visit you, though. Just so you know that I’m okay and because I miss you.”

She sniffed. “I’m surprised that they took you on at all. Forest cats and town cats don’t mix.”

His ears twisted back. “A lot of them call me kittypet,” he admitted.

“Yeah? And I bet they don’t like it when you call them feral, do they?” He shook his head. “Sounds like you just went out there to be bullied.”

“I didn’t. I’ll just become a forest cat. Then it won’t matter.”

“No, Rusty,” she said, “you’ll always be a town cat. Your roots will always follow you. Just show those forest bastards that town cats aren’t all spoiled, slop eating fatasses, alright?”

He blinked in surprise. He’d never heard Princess sound so… _heated_ about the forest cats. “Why don’t you like them?”

“Because they don’t like us,” she said. “It’s just the way things are.”

“Well it doesn’t need to be.”

“You’re right. Because you’ll teach them to respect you. Fear you, even.” She paused. “If you ever feel like their lessons are too soft, come to me. I’ll teach you right and proper how to fight, got it?”

“I…I think I’ll be fine.” He began to back away. “I should go, though. I promise I’ll visit, okay?”

Her icy gaze followed. “…Alright.”

It took a lot of willpower to keep his tail from tucking itself between his legs. Princess was an intense cat, but he’d never seen her quite like that. It only strengthened his suspicions that _something_ had happened to her. Something that made her a little guarded. A little distrustful of forest cats.

So focused on getting away from the Houses, though, he didn’t notice the shape loping along behind him until they stepped on a stick. His heart kicked into high gear and in a snapshot decision he rocketed up the nearest pine, the pouch of star studs still clutched in his teeth.

“Firepaw, it’s me!” He craned his neck to look down at Redtail, and a new fear wormed into his heart. “Come down, please.”

The moment he reached the base of the tree and saw the look in his eyes, he knew Redtail had seen him with Princess.

“Sit down, ‘paw,” he said gently. “I saw you with—”

“My sister,” he finished.

He hesitated. “So she was family?” He nodded. “Still. You know why I need to talk to you about this, right?”

“I didn’t tell her anything!” he exclaimed. “I’d never give up clan secrets or go back into the Houses or anything like that. I don’t want to be a town ca—a, a house cat, I want to be a forest cat! I belong here, Redtail. I know I do.”

“I…can’t condone you visiting her.”

“What?!” Redtail flattened his ears, but held his ground. “That’s stupid! She’s my sister!”

“We asked you to give up your life as a kittypet—”

“Stop using kittypet!” he snapped. “You don’t like being called ferals, well maybe we don’t like being called kittypets!”

“My point still stands.”

“You don’t get it,” he stressed. “All of my littermates got sent away to different homes before I even knew their names. The only reason I had Princess is because I went a few houses away from my mother before she and her housefolk moved. She’s all I have left.”

“That’s not true. You have Thunderclan now.”

“But none of you are my family,” he said. “I’m not going to go back to Houses, Redtail. I won’t even see her often. I just—” his voice caught painfully in his throat, “I don’t want to lose her. She’s the only thing from the Houses I don’t want to lose, and that’s because she’s my sister.”

When Redtail said nothing, his green gaze fixed off to the right, Firepaw added, “How would you feel if you went to the Houses, but couldn’t see Spottedleaf?”

“I…don’t think that compares,” he said hastily. “I don’t have the best relationship with my sisters, but if I had to leave behind Swiftstep and Sandpaw…” He sighed. “The clan will never approve of this, Firepaw.”

“If they find out,” he mumbled.

He twitched his ears, regaining just a hint of humour in his eyes. “I’ve said my piece. What you do from here…I only ask that you remember that your loyalties must remain with the clan if you ever want to become a forest cat.”

“I won’t have to split my loyalty,” he insisted. “The only reason I would is if Princess keeps wanting me to tell her clan secrets, and I’ll _never_ let that happen. All she needs to know is that I’m safe and happy.”

Redtail nodded. “Alright, but as far as I and the rest of the clan know, you have no business with outsiders. Understood?”

He didn’t like that Redtail was asking him to hide his relationship with Princess, as if it were ever something to be ashamed of, but this was the only way to keep visiting her, so he nodded. “I understand, Redtail.”

“Good. Let’s go back to camp and I’ll tell Bluestar how you did.”

It was then, as Firepaw followed Redtail back home, that he realized that Bluestar had told Redtail to send him to the Houses on purpose.


	12. Chapter 9

Even though Redtail had heavily implied that he wouldn’t breathe a word about Princess to the rest of the clan, Firepaw couldn’t help but be worried as he led him down into Bluestar’s den.

He really hadn’t expected her den to be as big as it was, though. Its water smoothed walls arced a good ways above their heads, the floor wide enough to hold nearly a dozen cats all squished together. Most impressive of all, however, were the things that adorned the walls and hung from the ceiling. Knives old and new, leather belts and wraps, a variety of trinkets—some of which hung low enough to brush Redtail’s ears (though not quite his).

Bluestar’s sleeping nest sat against the far wall, a throne of plush moss, bracken, and even feathers. That wasn’t where Bluestar sat, though, and for a moment he thought she might still be in forest. He caught sight of a figure in the shadows, though, and realized she simply wasn’t using it. Rather she lay beside it, legs tucked neatly beneath her chest, eyes slitted as they bored a hole into the stone floor.

“Bluestar, Firepaw has done very well with his assignment,” Redtail said. “His training is coming along very well, and he’s a quick learner. I genuinely believe that he’s an asset to the clan.”

At first, Firepaw thought that Bluestar hadn’t heard. She eventually raised her head, though, blinking once. “And he wants to stay?”

“More than anything, ma’am,” Firepaw said. “I love the forest and I love Thunderclan. I wouldn’t leave for anything.”

She sat up, shifting from old molly to regal leader in a second. “And you will swear your loyalty to Thunderclan, through the bloodiest battle and roughest winter? Through sickness and through death, through war and through famine?”

“Yes,” he said, “because that’s not all there is to clan life. We help each other and support each other. You’re right—Thunderclan’s a society, and I want to be a part of it.”

She nodded once. “Go wait outside.”

“Should I call the clan, Bluestar?” Redtail asked.

“That’s not your job,” was all she said before turning to the wall.

Ears flat, Redtail whisked his tail across Firepaw’s flank, indicating him to follow him out of the den. He led him to a spot at the base of the rock fall, tail tip twitching.

“Does Bluestar not like you?” Firepaw asked.

Redtail winced. “Nosy little ‘paw,” he huffed. “Bluestar and I have very different ideas of a deputy’s purpose in the clan. I’ll leave it at that.”

Bluestar emerged from her den and climbed the pile to give a yowl. Surprisingly, most of the clan was present, and came from all corners of the camp to listen.

“Tonight is the night of the full moon,” Bluestar announced. “As I said seven days ago when Firepaw first joined us, tonight is the night he will make his decision to stay or go. He has decided to stay.”

Surprisingly, the clan purred a much warmer acceptance than before. Firepaw did not miss a couple of cats hissing with displeasure, though, particularly the three toms—Lizardtail, Darkstripe, and Dustpaw were their names, he was sure—sitting huddled near the edge of the crowd.

“As such,” Bluestar continued, “he will receive his knife and his belt.”

As she came down the rock fall, Redtail gave him a light nudge. “Stand in front of her on—”

“My back legs,” he sighed. Redtail chuckled.

This time around, even though he was sore from the assignment, he was a lot steadier. He took the knife and the belt it was attached to—not so ornately designed as some of the clan cats’—from her paws and dipped his head. She gave him a curt nod and dismissed him to sit with Redtail again.

Without retaking her spot atop the rocks, Bluestar continued, “Tomorrow night is of course the full moon, and therefore the Gathering night. I will be bringing…” her sharp eyes scanned the crowd, “Redtail, Tigerclaw, Speckletail, Whitestorm, Lionheart, Lizardtail, Goldenflower, Frostfur, Ravenpaw, Greypaw, and Firepaw. As always, our elders are allowed to come or remain. I expect you all to be ready by dusk.”

She walked away and the crowd dispersed, except for Greypaw as he charged straight at him.

“YOU’RE STAYING!” he yowled just before bowling him over. Firepaw laughed and they tussled.

Redtail gave them a moment, but when Lionheart, Whitestorm, and Ravenpaw came over, spoke up, “Alright, ‘paws, listen up. Tomorrow’s your first Gathering and you need to know how to behave.”

At once, they lined up, facing Redtail and the two toms who flanked him. Firepaw held his belt to his chest as he listened.

“The most important thing to remember at a Gathering is to not say too much,” Redtail began. “It’s alright to make friends from other clans and to talk and have a good time, but it’s not okay to tell them our clan’s struggles or to give up any of our techniques, hunting, fighting, or otherwise.”

“That’s easy,” Greypaw said, “you haven’t taught us anything.”

“But that doesn’t change the fact that you still know things that the other clans don’t need to,” Redtail stressed. “A good rule to remember is that if it’s not personal or good, then it’s probably not to be said. Tell them about the pigeon you caught, but not about the kittens we lost during winter.”

“It’s up to Bluestar to decide how much strife the other clans should know about,” Whitestorm added. “So if she mentions something during the main Gathering, then that’s fine to talk about, but only with as much detail as she chose to share.”

“It’s a skill,” Lionheart said. “You’ll get the hang of it. If you don’t think you can say anything that won’t give something away, then just don’t talk much, or stick close to one of us. We’ll be able to tell if you’re saying too much.”

“How much can we say about Firepaw?” Greypaw asked.

“Most cats will be able to tell that Firepaw is a kittyp—” Redtail cleared his throat. “A former house cat right away. Mentioning that he was an outsider Thunderclan took in will be good enough an answer for them, though.”

“So…don’t tell anyone I’m from the Houses?” Firepaw asked.

“That would be for the best,” Redtail said.

“Taking in kittypets is practically unheard of,” Lionheart said. “Taking in rogues and loners is commonplace, especially if they’re young, but taking in a kittypet at apprentice age…it’s taboo, to say the least. Again, most cats will know from your pelt that you can’t be a wild cat, but that doesn’t mean we need to announce it, either.”

“I-I don’t know if—maybe I shouldn’t go,” Ravenpaw mumbled.

“Every apprentice goes to a Gathering at some point,” Whitestorm said. “You don’t have to keep going if you don’t enjoy it, but it’s important to do it at least once.”

“I won’t say anything,” Greypaw declared. “No cat is going to know _anything_ about Thunderclan!”

“Uh-huh.” Lionheart eyed him. “Firepaw, promise me you’ll stick close to this one, give him a smack if he needs it.”

“Yes, sir!”

“Hey!” Greypaw exclaimed.

“I don’t know, Firepaw is quite the talker as well,” Whitestorm said.

Redtail immediately piped up. “Firepaw asks questions, but I trust him not to answer them in a way that would harm us.”

He couldn’t help but glow with pride that Redtail had that much trust in him. Even though he’d doubted him after seeing him with Princess, he still had faith in him.

“It will be for the best if all three of you stick together,” Whitestorm said. “Then all three of you can keep an eye on the other.”

There was little more to say after that. They were sent to go sleep, and the next evening they were awoken to join the rest of Bluestar’s chosen on the way to the hollow.

With Bluestar in the lead, they took off towards Fourtrees. Fortunately, with the elders joining them, they were allowed to go slower. Firepaw sent a prayer of thanks to Starclan (though in truth he wasn’t sure if that was how it worked) since his legs were still sore.

Beyond his exhaustion, though, he couldn’t help a thrill of excitement. Besides the Windclan patrol, he hadn’t truly met the cats from the other clans. He couldn’t wait to see what they were like.

“Firepaw!” Redtail dropped back beside him. “I want you to be especially careful with the Rivers. We’re at war with them right now, so you must be especially guarded around them. Tell that to Ravenpaw and Greypaw as well, alright?”

“Yeah, I can do that.”

With a nod, Redtail sprang forward. He joined Bluestar as they reached the human path, and Firepaw relayed the message to Ravenpaw and Greypaw.

As they crept through the bushes towards the clearing, Greypaw snorted with laughter. “Wow, Dustpaw and Sandpaw are going to be so mad that we’re going to the Gathering and they have to stay home.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, normally only the older apprentices go.”

He laughed along now, imagining the look on _Sandpaw’s_ face. “Good.”

They entered the clearing and Firepaw was immediately assaulted by the smells of unfamiliar cats. He did recognize them, though: the fishy scents of the Rivers and the scents of heather and grass from the Winds. The Thunders separated and swam in among the bodies, murmuring surprisingly warm greetings in spite of the tensions between them and Riverclan.

“Hey, this way,” Greypaw said, beckoning them along with his tail.

He led the way to a group of younger cats, smelling both of fish and heather. The two Rivers were a silver molly with a white chest and paws and a golden molly with amber eyes. Their pelts were quite unusual, though, with cloud-like rosettes splattered across their fur. The Winds were also two mollies, one dark tortoiseshell with a white blaze across her muzzle and a mostly white tortoiseshell, where only her points were coloured pale grey and cream.

“Hello!” Greypaw said, approaching tail up. “Name’s Greypaw, I’m from Thunderclan.”

“Yeah, obviously,” said the golden Bengal. “I can smell your stench from across the clearing.”

“I’m Whitepaw,” the pale Windclan molly said, “and this is Sunpaw, my sister. It’s nice to meet you. Who are your friends?”

Greypaw’s tail had drooped a bit, but Whitepaw’s friendliness had him coming back full force. “Nice to meet you too! The ginger is Firepaw and the black one is Ravenpaw.”

“Hello,” Firepaw said, then balked when the other apprentices’ curious eyes turned on him, taking in his odd pelt. “It’s, uh, it’s nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you,” Ravenpaw mumbled, sitting half-behind them.

“Wow, I thought Leopard and I were the only ones!” said the silver Bengal. “I’m Silverpaw and this is my sister, Leopardpaw. You must be from outside the clans—so are we!”

Leopardpaw wrinkled her nose with distaste, but didn’t make a comment as Firepaw replied: “I am! I’ve only been with Thunderclan for a week, but I love it, I love the forest. What do you think of Riverclan?”

“I love it! Leopard and I were taken in as kittens three moons ago, but I still remember what it was like before the clan and it’s definitely much better. I love having a family that looks out for you and takes care of you no matter what. I don’t think any outsiders do that—not the way the clans do. It’s genius!”

“You had more time to get used to the clan life than Firepaw then,” Greypaw said. “Poor guy didn’t even know how to stand on his back legs!”

She curled her tail with amusement. “Leopard still has trouble standing.” Leopardpaw hissed at her, but Silverpaw only leaned forward, encouraged by her annoyance: “ _And_ she’s a total drypaw!”

Leopardpaw gave her a swat, to which Silverpaw laughed. Greypaw giggled too. “Well I don’t want to get _my_ fur wet either,” he said. “Look at how thick it is!”

“Are you kidding? You _look_ like a River!” Silverpaw exclaimed. “Leopard and I aren’t fluffy enough to be Rivers—have you seen Crookedstar? He’s all fur.”

“Really? My mom’s fur is thick like mine too, but I didn’t know my dad…” He gasped, ears flattening. “What if I’m half River?”

Silverpaw snorted with laughter, giving him a playful swipe across the shoulder. “Don’t be silly, Greypaw, your dad’s probably just a fluffy rogue. Do you really think your mom would break the code like that?”

“What do you mean break the code?” Firepaw asked.

“You don’t know?” she said, then immediately added, “Though I guess you’ve only been around for a week. In the Warrior Code—the basic system of honour which all the clans abide by—it states that you can’t take a mate or have kits with a cat from another clan.”

“Oh. Yeah, I heard that that’s also how we conduct honorable battle or something,” he said. “I don’t understand, though. How are the clans separate, but we follow the same law?”

“It’s not quite a law though,” she said. “It’s a code of honour that dictates how we interact with each other, especially so that we can conduct battle respectfully. We all share the forest, so it makes sense that we all follow a code to ensure that no one abuses the power they hold and we can all live in balance. Clan by clan law is entirely different, but I’m pretty sure it shares similarities at least.”

“Okay, that…makes sense,” he said. “But why are you not allowed to take mates from another clan?”

“Loyalty,” Leopardpaw said. “If you’re fraternizing with the enemy, then you’re not loyal to the clan. In battle, your loyalties are torn between clan and mate.”

“But being friends is different?”

“Being friends is much different.”

“Oh.”

“There’s a story,” Ravenpaw said, almost too quietly to hear. “About the wars that happened when half-clan kittens were born.”

Firepaw looked at him. “What happens when they are? It must happen, right?”

“The queen’s clan gets the kittens,” he said, “unless they willingly give them up, but they can never claim them as their kits. The sire may join the clan with their kits, but they will never be allowed to return home.”

“Oh, I didn’t know that part,” Silverpaw said, making Ravenpaw jump. “What about if, I don’t know, the queen dies giving birth?”

“Th-the, the queen’s clan still,” he mumbled.

“Neat.”

“What’s taking so long?” Leopardpaw grumbled. Her eyes had turned up to the moons. “Where is Shadowclan?”

As she said that, a new group of cats entered the clearing, smelling of swamp and mud. The bright ginger tom at the head of the party ran straight for the Great Rock and scrambled up. He was by no means a large tom, but his tail had a distinctive kink in it. The tom who sat at the base was truly massive though, his body made up of pale silver fur but his legs, head, and tail were black.

The Gathering quieted as Bluestar followed him to the top of the rock. A spindly black and white tom and a massive, pale tabby tom with a twisted jaw came soon after.

“Hello, cats of all clans!” the ginger tom crowed. “Shadowclan has arrived, so let the Gathering begin!”


	13. Chapter 10

Confused murmurs rippled throughout the crowd, and Firepaw immediately sensed that something was wrong. He glanced at Silverpaw and Leopardpaw, who stared up at the rock with wide eyes. Was this tom not supposed to be there?

He soon got his answer.

“What has happened to Raggedstar?” Bluestar asked. “Is she ill?”

“My dear mother has sadly passed,” he said, yet did not look the least bit remorseful. “So I, Brokenstar, have received my nine lives and taken over as leader of Shadowclan, with Blackfoot as my deputy and Runningnose—Cloudpelt, my apologies—as my healer.”

“Cloudpelt now? And what of Yellowfang?” asked the black and white tom. “Has she passed as well?”

“Ah, Breezestar, sadly our healer has been discovered doing some…deplorable crimes.” He shook his head. “She has been exiled—and I recommend that you do not give her sanctuary in any of your clans either.”

Breezestar exchanged a look with the Riverclan leader, who now asked Brokenstar: “Yellowfang was both an honoured warrior and a respected healer. What could she have possibly done?”

Brokenstar’s stubby ears flattened to his big round head. “Why don’t you keep your ugly muzzle out of clan business, Crookedstar? The rest of you are lucky that I deemed to warn you at all. If you truly _must_ know, however,” he paused dramatically, tapping a claw on his chin, “it was discovered that she kidnaps and kills kits—and has for many moons.”

Shock ran across the clearing in a wave. Firepaw’s shoulder fur stood on end. How could anyone kill a _kit_? Who could be so horrible?

Breezestar especially looked disconcerted, shifting uncomfortably on his skinny haunches. “I see.”

“Yes it’s a tragedy,” Brokenstar said. “But nonetheless, Shadowclan is thriving beneath my new leadership. We already have three new apprentices, Littlepaw, Palepaw, and Webpaw, with many more on the way. In fact, our clan is now the biggest in the forest—and I require territory to feed this clan of mine.”

Immediately, the other three leaders began to bristle. “Don’t mistake me, Brokenstar, I want no quarrel,” Breezestar said, “but I cannot abide by that request. If you need new territory, I suggest you expand elsewhere.”

“The human town has down nothing but grow over the generations,” he retorted, “there is no forest that way. We have run out of space, and this is our only option now. Why do you think I’ve come to this Gathering asking for your generosity?”

“I’m afraid I have my own clan to look after,” he growled.

Brokenstar swung his head towards the other two. “Crookedstar? Bluestar? I do not want to have to take land by force, but my clan is hungry, and we will only become larger. Please don’t let my clan suffer.”

“Over my dead body,” Bluestar snarled. “Thunderclan needs every inch of territory.”

Crookedstar shot a look at her, then back to Brokenstar. “What can you do with the river anyways, Brokenstar?” He chuckled. “I doubt your clan are fishers.”

“And who is to say we can’t learn?” Crookedstar’s humour disappeared, and Brokenstar gave a disdainful flick of his tail. “Fine, I will give you until the next Gathering to decide. By summer’s end, though, Shadowclan _will_ have more territory, whether you give it willingly or not.”

He leapt off the rock and trotted back towards Shadowclan territory, tail high in the air. The rest of his clan followed, but Firepaw couldn’t help but notice the way they flanked Brokenstar, Blackfoot, and Cloudpelt. Rather than trailing behind, they nearly surrounded the three like a protective circle. More like bodyguards than a clan.

“Wow,” Silverpaw whispered, “I can’t believe that. The nerve!”

“Do you think any of the other ‘stars will listen?” Greypaw whispered back.

“Crookedstar never would!” she exclaimed. “He cares about the clan being well-fed and wouldn’t let us lose the tiniest bit of territory.”

Similar murmurs crept across the clearing. Where most of the Thunders and Rivers had once had a Wind between them, now they all had their heads together, allies in the face of a new threat.

Firepaw couldn’t believe something like this was happening at his first ever Gathering. Either he was the luckiest apprentice…or the unluckiest. Even the three leaders seemed deeply concerned, with their own heads huddled together as they talked among themselves. Finally, Breezestar walked to the edge of the rock.

“The Gathering will continue,” he said. “Windclan is doing well now that spring has come, and we’ve already welcomed two new warriors: Owlwhisker and Wrenwhisker.”

As the cats gave their congratulations, Firepaw craned his neck to see the two young toms. He wondered if he would have time to congratulate them himself before going home.

“We have also welcomed two new kits,” he continued. “Pigeonspot has given birth to two healthy mollies. I hope to share their names with you the day of their apprenticeship.”

“Why wait?” Greypaw whispered.

“Oh Windclan has this thing where they think that if you tell outsiders the name of your kittens, they’ll have bad luck,” Silverpaw said. “Weird, right? I don’t see why it matters.”

“I have other news, however,” Breezestar added. “Ashfoot’s kittens have disappeared from the nursery—no trace of cat-scent or blood to be found. Following Brokenstar’s warning about this wandering rogue, I bid the clans take care with their children.”

As he stepped back, the murmurs began again with increased despair. They silenced as Crookedstar stepped forward. “Riverclan is also doing well!” he announced. Despite his deformed jaw, his deep voice rang clear across the crowd, only a bit slurred. “Pebblepaw and Beechpaw have both become apprentices this moon, and finally our den is full after so long with no new warriors.

“Greypool, one of our senior warriors, has moved to the elder’s den.” Confused murmurs rose up, and Firepaw caught someone saying something about Greypool not being nine years old yet. “I hear your murmurs, but Greypool’s memory has unfortunately begun to fail her, and it is no longer safe for her to leave camp. With Echomist and Piketooth, she’ll live out her days and serve the clan in a different way.”

He stepped back so that finally Bluestar could speak. “I’m glad to hear Greypool is getting the rest she deserves,” she said stiffly. “Thunderclan is thriving after a harsh winter—two of our apprentices are well on their way to becoming warriors, and we have added three more to our den: Ravenpaw, Greypaw, and Firepaw.”

Where Ravenpaw ducked down to hide the searching eyes, Greypaw raised his chin. Firepaw did neither, yet he felt most eyes touch him and linger. He swallowed hard but pretended not to notice.

“My warriors are also doing well after the…border incident that took place,” she continued. Crookedstar’s ear twitched, but he made no comment. “But I suppose Riverclan needs every scrap of territory it can get to feed their fat kits and swollen heads.”

“Get over it,” Leopardpaw hissed beneath her breath. “We won Sunningrocks fair and square. And it was originally ours anyways.”

“It was?” Firepaw said in confusion, only for Greypaw to give him a harsh nudge.

“Don’t listen to a River!” he hissed. “Sunningrocks belongs to Thunderclan!”

At once, both Silverpaw and Leopardpaw’s hackles were up. Before a fight could break out, though, Bluestar yowled from atop the Great Rock.

“That will end the Gathering!” she announced. “Thunderclan, to me!”

“Well, see you mollies around!” Greypaw said, snapping back to friendly in an instant. “Nice meeting you!”

He took off into the crowd, heading for Lionheart’s broad golden head. With a wave of his tail, Firepaw followed, Ravenpaw at him heels.

“There you are,” Redtail said as he bounded over. “What did you think?”

“It sure was interesting,” he replied.

“Normally they aren’t,” he said. “Looks like you’re lucky. Or unlucky.”

“Hey, I was just thinking about that!”

They shared a chuckle, but Redtail soon looked grim. “Bluestar will address what has happened once we get back to camp.”

This journey was much quicker. Even One-eye found it in her to speed up so they could get back sooner. As soon as they did, Bluestar leapt to the top of the rockpile. Anyone still in camp immediately joined the Gathering patrol as Bluestar described Brokenstar’s threats and warnings.

“We won’t be giving up territory to him, though, right?” Brindleface said worriedly.

“Absolutely not,” Bluestar growled. “Thunderclan has already lost land to the Rivers—what will it do to our name to lose to the Shadows next? No, Thunderclan keeps its land, even if it means war.”

“The sentiment is nice, Bluestar, but we’re at war with Riverclan already,” Whitestorm said, “and I personally don’t believe we can handle one on two fronts. Not with our numbers.”

“While that may be so,” Tigerclaw piped up, “Thunderclan is not the only clan opposing Brokenstar. As long as the Winds and the Rivers refuse to give ground to him, then Brokenstar won’t risk war—not at the threat that all three clans may stand together and fight him off.”

“Well what about Yellowfang?” Brindleface fretted. “She’s a kit killer. She stole Windclan kits!”

“There is no proof of that,” Bluestar said. “Yellowfang was indeed a respected healer and an incredible warrior, but I see no reason for her to begin killing kits so late in her life when Shadowclan has never stated this to be a problem before.”

“A good point,” Tigerclaw said. “Sure wouldn’t have as many damn cats as they do if Yellowfang were killing them before they were of age.”

“Spottedleaf knew Yellowfang best,” Redtail said. “Maybe she has some insight?”

Spottedleaf shrugged. “She was a crotchety bitch, and she never did like kits. Perhaps I should go to the Moonstone, though, and consult Starclan. I may receive a sign—if one of their most faithful was framed, then certainly they wouldn’t let such a thing slide.”

“Then why didn’t Cloudpelt receive a sign?” Whitestorm said.

“Unless he framed her,” Tigerclaw said.

“Cloudpelt is mousehearted,” Spottedleaf said. “If anything, it’s more likely he was threatened to remain quiet.”

“I’m personally suspicious of Brokenstar himself,” Redtail said. “I never did see any good in him, and his appointment to deputy was contentious in Shadowclan. If I recall, Yellowfang herself didn’t agree with that decision.”

“That’s enough,” Bluestar said. “If anything else must be said, then it will be said tomorrow night once we have had a chance to think on this. For now, we return to life as normal, and ignore Brokenstar’s demands.”

She leapt down, only stopping to tell Redtail to increase patrols along the Shadowclan border before padding out of camp. The clan broke into small groups, murmuring among themselves.

Redtail walked over to Firepaw. “Sunrise is nearly here,” he said. “Go get some sleep. We’ll get back to training tomorrow night.”

“Will everything be alright?” he couldn’t help but ask.

Redtail curled his tail. “Everything will be fine, Firepaw.”


	14. Chapter 11

Two months flew by as Firepaw threw himself into training. He didn’t go to the next Gathering, but he heard that though Brokenstar threw out threats, the other clans called his bluff and nothing came of it. In just three days was the next Gathering, and Firepaw hoped that he would be allowed to go. Maybe it would be normal enough that he would have more time to talk and ask questions.

Other than that, the only thing of note were a couple of minor border skirmishes. Firepaw hadn’t been involved in either of them, and though fighting had never broken out her heard that plenty of insults had been traded and they’d gotten close. He was more focused on training than the tensions between them and Riverclan, though. At least for now, while the altercations were minor.

“Ack! Get off, Greypaw!”

Despite his best attempts, Firepaw failed to throw off Greypaw, who had grown to nearly twice his size since the day they’d met. It made training rough when all his friend had to do was sit on him, and the battle was won.

“Come on, Firepaw, I’m not that heavy,” Greypaw said, relaxing more of his weight onto him.

He smacked his ear. “I’m going to be flat if you keep this up!”

“Grow bigger, then.”

“Oh you say it like it’s easy! You’re as big as a damn moose!”

Greypaw chortled with laughter and finally let him up. Redtail watched their mock battle with eyes that sparkled with amusement. He was their only trainer today, since Lionheart and Whitestorm were needed for a patrol along the Shadowclan border.

When Firepaw shot his mentor a glare of betrayal, he could no longer stifle his laugh. “Alright, alright, let’s see what you did wrong,” he said.

“What am I supposed to do?” he retorted. “It’s like fighting a rock!”

“He’s right,” Ravenpaw grumbled. Though older, Greypaw had outgrown him, too. He was nearly as big as Lionheart as this point.

“The problem is that you two are trying to think the same way Greypaw is,” Redtail said. “But you’re both much smaller than he is. When you’re fighting a bigger opponent, and if this tension with the Rivers keeps up you _will_ end up doing that _,_ you must rely on speed and take the battle slow.”

“That makes no sense,” Firepaw said. “How can we be fast and take it slow?”

“Because if you’re going fast, then you can only manage light blows,” he said. “So it will naturally take longer to drive off your opponent.”

“But we have knives.”

“Killing another is never honourable, Firepaw,” he reminded him. “That weapon is for killing blows only—be it prey or predator—but only in the most dire of circumstances do we draw on another cat.”

“I know,” he said. “But how do you trust your opponent _not_ to draw on you?”

“This is why the clans abide by the code,” he replied. “We all teach our ‘paws to never draw on a cat. Murder is weakness—it shows lack of skill and restraint. Through battle, however, clans can settle their squabbles based on the skill of their warriors.”

The session paused when a rustle came from the bushes. Tigerclaw emerged, shockingly enough, but without his apprentice, Dustpaw, nor the two cats who always seemed to shadow him, Lizardtail and Darkstripe.

“Tigerclaw, you must be finished with Dustpaw’s assessment?” Redtail asked.

“I am, and he did perfectly,” he purred. “By sundown, Thunderclan will have a new warrior—two if your daughter is up to par.”

“I’m confident Sandpaw will pass,” he said. “Would you like to watch the training session? You’re one of our best warriors; the ‘paws could learn a thing or two.”

“I would love to,” he said, settling down at the edge of the Sandy Hollow. “Where are we?”

“Teaching Ravenpaw and Firepaw what to do against a bigger opponent,” he said. “So how about a demonstration?”

A thrill of excitement zipped through Firepaw, only to be followed by the sting of fear. Redtail was by no means the largest cat in the clan, in fact he was very nearly the opposite, and Tigerclaw was about as big as any River. That fear held him in place. At least until Redtail gave him a nudge, chasing him and Greypaw to the edge of the hollow with Ravenpaw.

“I can’t believe we get to see _Tigerclaw_ fight!” Greypaw whispered. “He’s the best warrior of all the clans! This is going to be so badass!”

“Will Redtail be okay?” Ravenpaw muttered, voicing Firepaw’s fears.

He felt a surge of protectiveness for his nervous friend, though, and gave him a reassuring headbutt. “Redtail will be fine.”

The two toms circled one another, paws pressing in the sand like they might jump at any second. Before Redtail, Tigerclaw looked positively massive. All that bundled power sat coiled beneath his gleaming striped pelt, and even Firepaw was envious for a moment. To be that physically strong…no one would ever mess with him. He could stop fights before they ever even began. No cat would mess with him, forest, town, or otherwise.

All those scars told a different story, though. That Tigerclaw flew into the thick of battle with no remorse, and that no matter how big he was, how powerful the blows behind his hefty paws, some cat would always rise to the challenge. Those scars spelled tales of bravery—and not just Tigerclaw’s bravery.

Which got him thinking. “What even is a tiger?” he asked aloud. Not even the anxiety of watching his mentor about to fight a warrior like Tigerclaw couldn’t chase away his curiosity. “Or a lion? Or a leopard? Everything else I kinda know…”

They all flinched and huddled a bit closer when Tigerclaw sprang. Redtail rolled to the side. Through the spray of sand that Tigerclaw’s paws through up, he sprang clear over his opponent. Far slower, Tigerclaw turned the wrong way. Redtail battered him with his paws, then leapt away to avoid another blow.

“Lion, Leopard, and Tiger are some of the gods,” Ravenpaw whispered, eyes still trained on the fighting pair. “Their real names are Hiramau, Irves, and Saja, but when we name ourselves we use their representative names so we don’t disrespect them. There are other gods…”

Tigerclaw rounded on Redtail. His paws missed by a whisker. Redtail punished it with a solid smack on the face. Before he could dance out of reach, though, Tigerclaw bowled him onto his side and lunged.

Firepaw nearly sprang to his feet, especially at the way Tigerclaw’s teeth were bared, but Redtail scrambled out of the way of him.

“…but those three are the, uh, most well-known,” Ravenpaw finished quietly. “Thunderclan…gives those names to kittens who bear their image, or who need their guidance.”

“Guidance?”

Again Redtail battered Tigerclaw, this time with a smack across the face that made the massive warrior flinch. Redtail took advantage, giving him a quick mock bite before leaping away from Tigerclaw’s retaliation.

“If they’re sickly or small, we call on Saja to protect them and turn them from small and weak to big and strong. It’s a charm. If Saja approves, then she imbues the kitten with a bit of her power, not just letting the kitten live but to thrive as well, often becoming warriors worthy of bearing her name. Like Tigerclaw.”

He stared at Tigerclaw as he nearly pinned Redtail, more than twice the small tom’s size. He couldn’t imagine the impressive warrior ever being sickly, and especially not small.

“I think Saja gave Tigerclaw too much god juice,” Greystripe remarked. “I don’t think anyone could beat him in a fight!”

Firepaw privately agreed.

Finally, Redtail called the mock battle. Tigerclaw gave him one last lazy bat across the ear before seating himself and licking his tail. Firepaw realized immediately that he hadn’t been paying any attention to the techniques.

“The trick is to hound your opponent,” Redtail explained through breaths. “Keep away from their paws, and they’ll get frustrated and start to make mistakes. Give them enough small injuries, and they’ll eventually run home. In the end, fighting smart will benefit you in many situations, even in ones where you think you outclass your enemy. Now, did any of you want to try?”

Before any one of them could pipe up, Tigerclaw’s head snapped up. “Redtail, hide the ‘paws!”

A second later, Firepaw heard it too: heavy footsteps thumping along the forest floor. He didn’t need Redtail to tell him to shoot up the nearest tree; he just did. Ravenpaw was on his tail, but Greypaw, a bit heavier, was much slower, only reached the first branch.

In a flurry of leaves, a lithe brown shape burst into the Hollow from the dried-up stream. From the lolling tongue and floppy ears, Firepaw knew instantly that it was a dog.

Tigerclaw didn’t waste a second. With a yowl, he flung himself at the dog’s face. It skidded to a graceless halt, sliding and flopping onto its side. Redtail crashed into it next, claws tearing into the lab’s exposed belly.

Firepaw thought it would be enough to scare it off. It looked like a dopey thing, merely bounding through the woods for a bit of fun. A growl leapt into its throat, though. With fangs twice the size of his claws, the dog bore down on Tigerclaw. Yet Tigerclaw held his ground, all of Saja’s blessing into his yowl as he snagged his wicked sharp talons into its jowls and tore away.

As quickly as it had barged into the Hollow, the dog turned and ran, tail between its legs. Tigerclaw barreled after it, looking even more massive with all his fur bushed out. Both disappeared into the bushes, but Firepaw could hear them long afterwards.

Paws braced, Redtail remained in the center of the Hollow, tail lashing, ears facing the racket. Soon, even that faded, and a tense silence followed. Ravenpaw pressed against Firepaw, trembling.

In time, Tigerclaw returned, tail lashing but looking unharmed. “It ran into the water,” he said. “So it’s Riverclan’s problem now.”

Redtail’s fur began to lie flat. “I’d say warn them, but after they took Sunningrocks…”

“Precisely.”

He gave an indignant sniff, slowly going from full alert to part cautious as he settled back on his haunches. “’Paws?” he called up to the tree. “Is anyone hurt?”

Greypaw moaned with pain. “I cut my pad open on a branch!”

Sure enough, Firepaw could smell blood. “Ouch,” he muttered.

“He’s okay,” Ravenpaw said, leaning over to look down. “My shoulder looked worse than his paw.”

Firepaw exhaled a sigh of relief. “That’s good. Are you alright, Ravenpaw?”

“You mean besides the fact that I’m never going to sleep again?”

He’d never heard Ravenpaw make a joke. It caught him so off guard, that he laughed louder than he intended, making his friend jump. “Yeah, I feel that. We’re okay, Redtail!”

They climbed down and walked over while Redtail inspected Greypaw’s injured pad. “Lick it,” he ordered. Beneath his breath, he growled to himself: “I can’t believe a damn dog showed up here. It must have followed the river up from the town after its human let it out.”

Tigerclaw sniffed derisively. “You’d think it would smell the border and turn away.”

“Oh it smelled the border, then probably thought it could find us and have a little fun,” he muttered. “Good thing you were here. I wouldn’t have liked to take it on alone.”

He swished his tail across the sands. “Most dogs aren’t bold enough to keep up an attack, fortunately,” he said. “Only the truly vicious ones get persistent. Remember that, ‘paws. If you meet a dog that doesn’t run after you’ve given it a good clawing, then you’re better off running for a tree.”

Princess had taught him that. In fact, he remembered one of the first times he’d been outside in the early spring when a dog—much smaller than the lab—had begun to chase him. Princess had leapt in front of it and the moment it’d tasted the points of her claws, it’d taken off.

Still, he nodded as if he hadn’t known that. He’d seen Princess only once two weeks ago, and Redtail’s warning still rattled around in his head. It’d been thunderous his entire visit with her, to the point that he’d run off before he’d finished telling her everything he’d wanted to tell her. He’d even forgotten to ask if she could tell Smudge that he was okay.

“With that dog there, I want to keep an eye on the Rivers to make sure it doesn’t cross back over,” Redtail said. “If the three of you promise to be careful, we can hunt in that area and you can help me keep watch.”

Firepaw’s tail shot up. “I’d love to! I’ve always wanted to try vole.”

His whiskers twitched with amusement. “Well you wouldn’t be eating it unless there’s vole left over later. Remember that we need to feed the queens and the elders first.”

“I know, Redtail, but if I catch _enough_ voles, then I’ll definitely get one!”

He chuckled. “Alright. Greypaw? Ravenpaw? Do you want to help as well?”

“Yes!” Greypaw said. “I’ll make up for that stupid pigeon I missed.”

“Don’t go disrespecting your prey just because it was skilled enough to evade you. It’s on you to hone your hunting techniques so that you don’t let prey slip from your claw.”

“It’s just a pigeon,” he scoffed.

“And if that pigeon wasn’t around, what would we eat?” Tigerclaw piped up. “Prey is integral. Treat it with respect, and thank Starclan for its life when you kill it, because it gave it up so we could thrive.”

“Oh. That’s a good point…”

“I-I want to go too,” Ravenpaw said.

“If you’re coming, you should show me how to get voles,” Firepaw said.

He twisted an ear back awkwardly. “It’s no big deal, just gotta be quick.”

“Then go on,” Redtail prompted. “Tigerclaw, if you could send another warrior out to join us, please. Bluestar will also want to hear about the dog.”

Tigerclaw paused. “Are you sure she’ll approve of this plan?”

Redtail’s hackles began to rise. “I’m the deputy of this clan,” he said sternly. “I’m just as capable of making decisions for the safety of it and its members as she is. That’s the reason why she _chose_ me, isn’t it?”

The great warrior stared straight into his eyes. Even though Greypaw and Ravenpaw were already walking away, Firepaw hesitated. A tension he hadn’t seen before charged the air between the pair. Rivalry gleamed in their eyes.

“I simply find it interesting that she chose you for deputy, but doesn’t let you actually _be_ deputy,” he said. “Maybe she regrets it.”

Redtail lashed his tail once. “One day you’ll have to accept that she didn’t want you as her deputy, Tigerclaw,” he growled. “Bluestar has her reasons for fighting my every decision. Now please go back to camp and send someone to help me watch over the apprentices—I’m sure you have plenty to do yourself, anyways.”

With an indignant sniff, Tigerclaw walked away. Firepaw turned and ran after Greypaw and Ravenpaw before Redtail noticed him eavesdropping. So Tigerclaw had wanted to be deputy? Had they competed for the position, then? They did seem to be about the same age. If Tigerclaw was such a legendary warrior, one who could fight off a dog all on his own, he had to wonder why he _hadn’t_ been chosen.

He was glad Redtail was deputy, though. He was good at it—when Bluestar wasn’t questioning his every decision.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Firepaw asked, joining a solemn looking Ravenpaw and Greypaw on the shore of the river.

“Listen,” Ravenpaw hissed.

He snapped his mouth shut and strained his ears. His heart jumped when he heard distant barking, and the distinct yowls of cats fighting. It sounded as if some Rivers had encountered the dog.

“I hope they’re okay,” Firepaw said. He instinctively searched the river, looking for a way across, but he couldn’t just run into another clan’s territory, even if it was to help.

“Yeah, it looked pretty vicious for a second before Tigerclaw scared it off,” Greypaw agreed. “Do you think Silverpaw and Leopardpaw are okay?”

“If we get to go to the Gathering, we’ll find out then.”

“True.”

They listened until the barking stopped, and then began their riverside hunt.


	15. Chapter 12

“…And now that the two of you have proven yourself warriors, I will give you your full names,” Bluestar announced, her silvery body outlined by the rising moons behind her. “Sandpaw, you will now be known as Sandstorm. Your hunting skills have been invaluable to the clan, and will be for many moons to come.”

Sandstorm raised her chin, soaking up the pride and awe the clan poured onto her.

The cheers faltered as Bluestar cleared her throat. “And Dustpaw, you will now be known as Dustpelt. You’ve grown into a capable hunter and a strong tom that the clan can be proud of. As is tradition, the both of you will keep watch atop the ravine once Hiverne has opened his eye. You will not speak unless you see danger, and let the weight of your new responsibilities settle upon your shoulders.”

At once, the clan burst into cheers. From beside Firepaw, Redtail’s voice was among the loudest, strained as if he could barely contain his happiness for his only daughter. Firepaw was just glad that he didn’t have to share a den with her and her dirty looks; she’d never truly gotten over the snide comment he’d made.

“That isn’t all,” Bluestar continued. “To fill the gaps left in our apprentice den, I will be welcoming two of our kittens to clan life as well. I know it’s a bit earlier than usual, but Mossflower and I have agreed that Swiftkit and Cinderkit are ready to become ‘paws.”

Cinderkit squealed with delight, only to be shushed by her mother. Swiftkit looked much more proper on Mossflower’s other said, chin raised and calm as can be. Bluestar descended the rock fall and beckoned Cinderkit forward first.

It was all the young molly could do not to barrel into Bluestar, but she stopped short, rising onto her back legs with such ease that Firepaw, who still hadn’t perfected it, couldn’t help but be envious.

“From now on, until the day your receive your full name, you will be known as Cinderpaw,” Bluestar said. Her eyes gleamed with a type of pride that hadn’t been present for Sandstorm and Dustpelt, pride for her granddaughter as she rested a paw on her shoulder. “Goldenflower, I trust you to handle Cinderpaw’s energy like you had once handled Amberpaw’s.”

Goldenflower, seated beside Tigerclaw, leaned forward, but hesitated before getting up. Tigerclaw gave her ear a gentle nuzzle. “I know what happened to Amberpaw,” he murmured, “but it won’t happen again with Cinderpaw. Go on.”

Bluestar handed Goldenflower the belt and knife, which she handed to Cinderpaw before pressing her nose to her forehead. She yelped in surprise when Cinderpaw fell into her and hugged her tightly.

Swiftkit walked up next. “From now on, until the day you receive your full name, you will be known as Swiftpaw,” Bluestar said. “Lizardtail, you’re young, but it’s time you took on your first apprentice and Swiftpaw will be perfect for you.”

Lizardtail hesitated too, but worked up the courage without prompting. He gave Swiftpaw his belt and knife and press his nose warmly to the top of his head.

Firepaw wondered if the clan would give _him_ the chance to mentor an apprentice one day. He couldn’t imagine knowing everything about clan life well enough to do something like that, though. He also couldn’t imagine the clan would even let him. A former house cat training a clan born apprentice? He sighed.

“What’s wrong?” Ravenpaw, sitting beside him, asked. Both Redtail and Greypaw, who’d also been sitting with them, had gone up to congratulate their family.

“Do you think I’d ever get to train an apprentice?” he asked.

“If you wanted, probably,” he said.

“But I’m a house cat.”

“You used to be. Now you’re not.”

Unconvinced, he decided to ask: “Do you think you want to train an apprentice someday?”

Ravenpaw’s ears flattened immediately. “No! You really think I need to be given the opportunity to mess up some poor kitten? I’d be an awful mentor.”

“Iunno, you’re pretty good at teaching me stuff when I don’t get it. Sometimes you even explain it better than Redtail.”

“I wouldn’t be very good at it,” he stressed. “And I—I think I have too many _issues_ to be training an apprentice, don’t you think?”

“No? What issues?”

“Have you seen me?” he said in disbelief. “I’m a coward, I hate fighting, I’m weak…”

“No you’re not. And how can you hate fighting if you’ve never really done it for real?”

“I just know I will. Look at my father, Fuzzypelt,” he said. “I’m exactly like him.”

“I don’t know Fuzzypelt but I don’t see anything wrong with him?”

Ravenpaw shook his head. “Just trust me, Firepaw. I’d be a useless mentor. My brothers…they’ll be much better than me. I bet Swiftpaw will be the best warrior in Thunderclan, with Lizardtail training him.”

“Really? Lizardtail is that good?”

“He’s better than me,” he muttered.

With the ceremonies over, clan life went back to normal. Lionheart, Whitestorm, and Redtail gathered the three older apprentices together.

“Are we going to take Cinders and Swifty into the forest?” Greypaw asked excitedly.

“No, Goldenflower and Lizardtail will be taking just the two of them to the border with the Houses,” Redtail said. “We have something more important.”

All three apprentices leaned forward. “What’s that?” Firepaw asked.

“Assessment night,” Whitestorm said. “Now that you’re two moons into training, it’s time to see how your hunting skills are coming along. You’ll be sent out alone along three separate paths. Each of us will follow you and observe part of your hunting trip. Once you catch three pieces of prey, you can go back to camp.”

“Sounds fun!” Greypaw said. “I’m going to catch the best prey, Lionheart.”

“It’s not about how good the prey you catch is,” he retorted, “it’s about your techniques, tracking, and whether you perform the correct rituals.”

“Then I’ll do all that the best!” he exclaimed. “I’m going to beat this assessment so hard!”

The three warriors led them out to a clearing that branched out along several paths. Redtail commented that the deer in the forest commonly used these paths, and their hooves had long ago worn the narrow tracks into the ground. Sure enough, it smelled strongly of spring does and the fawns that followed at their heels.

“The assessment begins now,” Redtail said. “Good luck, ‘paws.”

Firepaw picked a path and began to trot along it. He only looked over his shoulder once, and the warriors were already gone. He wondered which part of his hunt Redtail would see, and if he would do well.

Fortunately this wasn’t his first time hunting, or even his first time hunting without the active supervision of a nearby warrior. The more time passed, the more he was free to go out on his own as long as he asked permission. He already longed for the free time that the warriors had, though. Even with patrols and hunting, they had so much time to do what they wanted. He felt like he spent all his time training under the eye of the adults.

His first catch was a mouse. While creeping along the path, he saw it rooting among the leaf litter and hunkered down. Once he was certain it hadn’t seen him, he crept forward, bunched himself up, and leapt.

With such a warm, wiggly body beneath his paws, it was tempting to go ahead and take a bite. He restrained himself, though, and tied the body to his belt like Redtail had shown him. It wouldn’t work for larger prey, but this way he could easily grab a half dozen mice and carry them back to camp.

His next was a chipmunk, and he was proud of this one. It had been halfway into its burrow when he’d scooped it out and flung it again a rock, stunning it. A nip to the back of its neck, and it was dead. He hoped Redtail had seen it.

But then, when he caught the fresh scent of rabbit, he changed his mind. He hoped Redtail would see _this_ kill.

Soon he spotted it, a little brown rabbit just half his size. Normally rabbits stuck to the edges of the woods closer to Windclan territory, their time out of their dens teasing the rays of Hiverne too closely to risk a hunt. Whether it was Starclan or perhaps even the gods themselves, someone seemed to want him to succeed on this hunt.

His tail began to swish with anticipation, but he quickly stilled it and stalked towards it. When he was nearly close enough to leap, though, it raised its head.

With a yowl, he darted forward, desperate to make this kill. It took off, feet thumping hard on the earth as it zigzagged into the underbrush. He drove himself to go faster and faster, leaping over roots and taking sharp turns like he never would have been able to when he first came to the forest. His pride spurred him forth and with a single, massive leap he crashed down onto the rabbit with a blow hefty enough to kill it on impact.

“THANK YOU, STARCLAN!” he yowled, barking out a victorious laugh. “You better have seen that, Redtail.”

Afterwards, he sat down to catch his breath and give his face a quick clean. He couldn’t believe he’d caught something so huge. Even Bluestar would be impressed. And if he could catch the normally apathetic eye of Thunderclan’s leader, then he _had_ to be doing something right.

_Better watch out, Firepaw,_ one of the rocks creaked behind him.

He froze when he heard the bushes rustling and instinctively dropped to a crouch. He’d thought that his yell would scare away any other prey, so what could this possibly be?

His hackles rose when the smell of fox hit his nose. His hackles rose, and he stood over the rabbit protectively, legs braced and tail lashing. He knew it was stupid. He knew he should run. But he couldn’t just give up this rabbit because a stupid fox was bold enough to wander onto clan territory.

A low growl came from the bushes. “Alright, ‘paw, we’ll do this the hard way.”

Firepaw only had a second to be shocked when the “fox” spoke cat before the dark grey ball of matts and fur burst from the undergrowth. He reared up and was bowled over by the molly, even though she was smaller than him and quite skinny.

“Ow, ow, ow!” he wailed as she grabbed an ear and gnawed on it, her back paws looking for purchase on his belly. He tried to claw her ears—she didn’t have any. Just what the fuck was this thing?! With a surge of anger, he shoved her off of him.

As he got up and faced the old molly, he encountered a creature that didn’t look entirely cat like. Besides the fact that her ears had been shorn to stubs, her face was flat and her bottom fangs jutted out, cracked and worn and yellowed with age, and her vivid orange eyes burned with a supernatural anger so vicious and so otherworldly that it nearly cut a line straight through him. Knife to his throat, he would have sworn he was face to face with an angry spirit.

Beyond the blood hammering in his veins, he could hear the stone guardians chortling all around him. It only served to rile him up more. He charged her.

He did not expect to see shock on her hideous face.

Now that he knew not to underestimate this skinny thing, he easily shoved her over using all his might. He latched his claws into her head and battered her with his back claws, strewing clumps of nasty grey fur across the space. She writhed and squirmed to no avail, her own claws digging in but her back claws uselessly missing their mark.

Until they didn’t. She nailed him right in the face and tried to scramble away when he reared back. He pursued her, chasing her down and locking his fangs around her back leg. Her fur tasted awful, but in the haze of ferality, of instinct driven hate, of a blazing need to protect his territory and his kill, he only bit down harder and harder until blood sprang forth.

And then he heard a crunch.

The molly’s wail of pain cut straight through the fog of battle hunger. He let go and scrambled back, staring wide eyed at the molly. No longer was she an enemy, a trespasser, but an old cat hunkered on the forest floor, her leg sticking up and trembling. Blood dripped down his chin. He felt shame.

And yet, she laughed at him. “Alright, I’ll admit it: I didn’t expect that from a ‘paw as young as you.” She bent her head and gave her leg a few swift licks—as if that would do her rotten pelt any good, Firepaw thought. “You surprised me.”

“Who are you?” he asked wearily. “I don’t think you’re a rogue.”

“And I don’t think you’re clanborn.” He flinched, she snorted. “Right on the nose with that one, eh?” She gave her foot one final lick, then collapsed on her side. “You didn’t break it, but I’m not walking nowhere.”

He bristled. “Well you better. You’re on Thunderclan territory.”

“You think I don’t know that?” she retorted. “Clan territory’s the only place to hunt. Go into the town and I’m bloody done for.” She sniffed. “So I make do.”

“Who are you?” he asked again.

She ignored him and began to give her wounds a more thorough cleaning. He flattened his ears, but he didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t attack her. She was old and she was injured. He couldn’t just leave her, either. She was still a trespasser. And just who was she?

_Why, that’s Yellowfang, the healer._ He jolted when one of the stone guardians piped up. Would he ever get used to that?

“You’re Yellowfang?” he asked tentatively.

Her eyes now glowed with indifference rather than that bloodlust hate from earlier. “Thought you didn’t know my name?”

“Er, well…” Should he tell her? “The stone guardians told me.”

She stopped. “They told _you_?” He shuffled his paws, but he liked that now she looked at him with interest, no longer dismissing him. “Huh. Never thought I’d see the damn day.”

“What’s that mean?” he asked.

“Means that I ain’t never seen stone guardians speak to someone who don’t have even one clanborn parent,” she retorted. “Even in Shadowclan—and they’re more outsider than any other clan.”

“Shadowclan… That’s right. You’re a Shadow.”

“Was,” she said curtly. “And with the way Brokenstar’s driving the clan into the ground, glad about that.”

“Why? Wait.” He stepped away. “I remember now. You got thrown out for murder. You’re the kit killer.”

She stiffened. “The _what_?” she snarled.

“Two Gatherings ago, he…he warned the clans about a kit killer,” he said quietly. “I couldn’t remember the name but…it’s you, isn’t it?”

She stared at him, so stiff and angry yet the only show of that being the deep simmer in her eyes. It was amazing, how her big eyes told so much story and her body so little. Her tail didn’t even twitch. Was this what all Shadowclan cats were like? He could only remember Brokenstar, though, and he’d been as expressive as any cat. So which was the truth? Who was more Shadow?

“And if I said yes? What would you do?” she said. “Or if I said no? Whose word would you believe?”

He hesitated. “I…think yours.”

“Why?”

Again, he didn’t know how to answer. How could he tell her it was a feeling? Just a hunch?

_Yellowfang was a warrior,_ the stone guardians remarked idly, as if in casual chat. _And a good one at that._

_That’s_ why he had that hunch. “You tried to scare me off with fox scent,” he said. “You didn’t want to fight, and I don’t think that’s because of your condition. You could have killed me easy. I was distracted—and any good warrior could have grabbed my knife and slit my throat.”

She exhaled slowly, her stiffened tail beginning to twitch once more. “Smart boy,” she murmured.

“I don’t know if anyone else would believe you, though,” he said. “So I still think you should go. You’re a healer, so you can take care of your leg once you get off Thunderclan land.”

She didn’t say anything. He began to twitch beneath the intensity of her gaze, until finally: “No, I don’t think I will.”

“But they’ll—if someone finds you, they’ll kill you!” he exclaimed. “Look, I’ll…I’ll give you the rabbit, you eat, and then you go.”

He dragged it over to her, and she stared at it in surprise. Her eyes flicked to him, then back before she took a bite. In between watching her devour the rabbit, he strained his ears for signs that anyone from Thunderclan would be nearby. When she finished, though, she went right back to grooming herself.

“What are you doing?!” he hissed. “Get out of here! You said you’d leave!”

She peered a single eye over her paw. “As a matter of fact, ‘paw, I did not. You gave me the rabbit, but I certainly didn’t give you any promises.”

“But—”

“I know what I’m doing.” Using her uninjured hind paw, she pushed the remains of the rabbit towards him. “There’s still some scraps. Eat them, then bury them.”

He recoiled at first. Who did this hag think she was, ordering him around? She carried such an air of authority around her, though, that he crouched and ate without protest, then paid his respects to the corpse under a bed of dirt. Meanwhile, Yellowfang resumed her busy grooming. It was almost as if she were waiting for someone.

“You should go,” he said.

“Go where?” she said flatly.

“Just…out of the territories.”

“For an outsider, kitty, you don’t know a damn thing about the stuff that lies beyond clan borders,” she said. “I told you: town cats won’t take kindly to a forest cat, and I’m too damn old to be travelling to and fro like a loner.”

“You…could get a human…” he muttered.

The fur along his spine began to rise as she looked at him sharply. “You think I’ll reduce myself to eating slop and letting humans rub their clumsy fingers all over me?” He said nothing. At once, she began to laugh. “Shit, ‘paw, don’t tell me the Thunders are desperate enough to take in _kittypets_?”

“I was a house cat,” he growled, “but now I’m a forest cat. What does it matter?”

“Blood follows you,” she sneered. “Why do you think Shadowclan is in shambles, all at the behest of a spoiled tom kitten picked up half-dead off the damn streets of Town Border?”

He had nothing to say to that. Could it be true? Would his roots always stop him from being a true Thunderclan warrior? Would it make him soft? Hadn’t it already—what with the way he’d let Yellowfang live and remain rather than chasing her out? How he’d already fed her like she was an elder of his own clan and not some dirty trespasser? Would _Redtail_ have allowed her to remain?

As a familiar yowl split the air, he knew he was about to find out. A second later, Redtail loped out of the bushes, all his fur standing on end. His eyes found Firepaw first, and he relaxed. They found Yellowfang next, though, and relaxation became a memory as he arched his back.

“Firepaw, come here,” Redtail growled.

He slunk over obediently. Behind Redtail came Whitestorm, Lionheart, and of course Greypaw and Ravenpaw.

“Firepaw!” Greypaw exclaimed. “You were taking too long so we came to get—mmph!” Lionheart slapped a paw over his mouth, sharp golden eyes also trained on Yellowfang.

“Yellowfang, what are you doing on clan territory?” Redtail demanded, a paw on the handle of his knife.

“Getting my ass handed to me by an eager to please kittypet, apparently,” she retorted with a single swish of her tail. “He yours, Redtail? I suppose you’re one of few cats who _could_ teach a kittypet to fight.”

“Whitestorm, watch her. Firepaw,” he turned to him, “tell me what happened.”

He quickly explained what had happened, how he’d thought she was a fox and stood his ground, then injured her leg. He stopped short after telling Redtail that he’d already asked Yellowfang to leave.

“Anything else?” Redtail asked.

Firepaw’s ears folded back. “I, I guess…I told her that if she left, she could eat the rabbit, and she did but…”

“But I’m still here,” Yellowfang said. “And by Starclan’s will, you’ll be taking me back to camp and providing me shelter.”

“What?” Redtail snarled. “Absolutely not, kit killer.”

“Ah, yes, the kittypet told me that those are the lies Brokenstar is spreading about me.” She stiffly heaved herself to her feet and bared her nasty, crooked teeth. “Doesn’t change a fucking thing, though. You have no proof and I’m a healer, I’m the mouth of the stars, so you _will_ take me in.”

Firepaw looked between the two. A part of him was sure that Redtail would send her away regardless. Was that even a law? Was he not allowed to turn her away?

“Alright,” he finally relented, dipping his head with a surprising amount of respect. “Come with us.”

She sniffed indignantly as she hobbled past him. “Imagine trusting the word of a damn idiot like Brokenstar over that of a seasoned healer,” she grumbled.

“I won’t say ill about Brokenstar,” he said, “but I do see your point.”

She barked out a raucous laugh. “You’re too damn polite, Redtail. Never did understand why Bluestar chose you.”

“Yes, because running around insulting my superiors would have certainly helped me become deputy,” he said dryly.

She sniffed. “You get respect when you earn respect.”

He flicked his tail. “Let’s just get you back to camp.”


	16. Chapter 13

Greypaw and Ravenpaw flanked Firepaw on the way back to camp. He tried not to let his tail droop too much, but it nonetheless dragged in the dirt. Guilt sat heavy in his belly, and he was afraid he wouldn’t be able to keep down the stolen scraps of rabbit.

“Did you seriously feed her?” Greypaw whispered.

“She was hungry,” he said, “and, I don’t know. We’re taught to respect our elders…”

“But she’s _Shadowclan_!”

“I think you did the right thing,” Ravenpaw said. “Though maybe you shouldn’t have fed her an _entire_ rabbit…”

He sighed.

They returned to camp. Thankfully, there weren’t too many cats there—most of them were probably patrolling or hunting. Bluestar was still in camp, though, and she was deep in conversation with Tigerclaw. Both their heads swung around when the smell of Yellowfang hit their noses.

Frankly, Firepaw was surprised it didn’t hit them from across the territory.

“Redtail, what is this?” Bluestar demanded. “Yellowfang?”

Despite her size and injury, Yellowfang shoved forward to come face to face with the old grey molly. “Bluestar, long time no see. By Starclan’s will, you’ll now be keeping me in your camp and giving me food and shelter.”

Bluestar’s ears flattened. “You’re a criminal.”

“Uh huh? And you’re going to take the word of a new damn ‘star over that of a seasons old healer?” Bluestar shut her mouth and Yellowfang cackled. “Props to Thunderclan’s new kittypet for giving me the idea to invoke my immunity. Damn near forgot about it without him.”

Firepaw ducked down shamefully when Bluestar’s eyes fell on him. So much for trying to impress her. He was certain he was going to get kicked out of the clan.

Especially as Redtail recounted the story of what had happened to an ever-growing crowd of listening cats. Growls of displeasure rippled through them when Redtail told them that he’d given up a plump rabbit for the old molly on top of failing to drive her away.

“Of course,” sneered Dustpelt, “leave it to a fucking kittypet to get soft instead of driving off intruders like he’s supposed to, and now we have to deal with feeding a fucking kit killer?”

“Honestly,” Sandstorm agreed. “I bet a rabbit that plump could have fed two cats and instead he gave it to this greedy hag?”

He wished someone would pipe up in his defense, but no one did. Their stares of disappointed bored holes into his backside. He felt so stupid.

“Alright,” Bluestar said slowly, her eyes mere slits, as Redtail finished explaining the situation. “Firepaw, come here. What do you have to say for yourself?”

He walked over, looking from Bluestar to Yellowfang. She wasn’t even looking at him, though, beckoning over Spottedleaf with her tail tip to whisper into her ear. He felt a rush of annoyance.

“You taught me not to kill,” he said. “So I didn’t. And anyways, I knew she wasn’t a murderer. She could have easily killed me after I caught that rabbit, but she didn’t. It seemed right to help her.”

“It seemed right to help her because she _didn’t_ kill you?” Bluestar said flatly.

He heard Dustpelt and Sandstorm begin to snicker at him, but he forged onwards anyways. “You also taught me to respect my elders, and I knew that she was a healer too. That’s why I gave her the rabbit, even though she’s from Shadowclan.”

“I see,” she said, eyes narrowing further yet. “And was it out of respect for Yellowfang that you, too, ate part of that rabbit?”

His jaw dropped. Beneath her icy gaze, he hung his head in shame. Of course she’d smelled it on him. He had no excuse for that, though, so he remained quiet while the clan began to whisper about him.

“Can’t even follow our most basic rules…”

“Damn greedy kittypet…”

“Maybe taking him in was a bad idea…”

“That’s enough,” Bluestar’s voice cut through and silenced the whispers. “Firepaw, you will need to be punished, and I think it’s apt that, since you brought Yellowfang into the camp, you will be the one to care for her. Hunt for her, change her bedding, and help Spottedleaf tend her wounds. You will not be allowed to attend Gatherings for the duration of your punishment, and you will also not be allowed anywhere other than the camp without supervision.”

“That’s it?” said Robinwing, who’d been watching from the entrance of the healer’s den. She now limped over. “I think he deserves more than that. I had to prove again and again my loyalty to the clan—Pinestar _never_ would have let something like this slide. All this is, Bluestar, is a smack on the paw! He won’t learn anything!”

“Do I look like Pinestar to you?” Bluestar retorted. “It’s not just kittypets or outsiders who break this rule. Most apprentices will swallow a mouse before feeding their elders—that is why a lesson in respect is in order.”

“No, this isn’t fair,” she growled. “If _I_ had done something like this, I would have been forced to stay in camp for a week! We need to be training that softness out of him and forcing him to prove himself to us, not coddling him after breaking such a severe rule!”

“Robinwing, enough!” Bluestar snarled. She stood and advanced on the molly, tail lashing, to which she hurriedly backed away. “This was _not_ a severe rule to break. If he breaks it again, I will have a more severe punishment for him. Until that happens, though, you will allow _me_ to be leader. Understood?”

“How is bringing a trespasser—a _kit killer_ —into camp not severe?” Robinwing hissed quietly.

“Because he hasn’t,” she growled. “He has brought a healer and respected warrior. Go back to your nest.”

Firepaw stared at the two mollies. He’d known Bluestar would be mad at him, and certainly she was, but she wasn’t kicking him out. She was treating him like any other clanborn apprentice. He could have wailed for the relief that swept over him. As it was, his legs were trembling.

As Bluestar turned back to the rest of the clan, Robinwing took the hint and stalked away. “This meeting is over,” she announced. “Sandstorm and Dustpelt, teach Firepaw how to make a nest and put it by the elder’s den—the warriors will take turns guarding her. Swiftstep will be the first. Redtail, Yellowfang, come with me to my den for a moment.”

The clan dispersed. Greypaw and Ravenpaw shot him sympathetic looks before following their mentors, leaving him alone with, unfortunately, Sandstorm and Dustpelt.

“What?” Sandstorm said in disbelief. She was quiet enough for Dustpelt’s ears, but Firepaw was close enough to hear anyways. “We’re warriors now, so why do we have to keep doing this shit?”

“Who doesn’t know how to make a nest?” Dustpelt added.

“Just teach me quickly,” Firepaw interrupted. “I’ll learn it, and then you won’t have to help me actually do it.”

“I doubt it’ll get through your thick head if we try to do it _quickly_ ,” Sandstorm growled. “Come on. Can’t believe we have to do this…”

Firepaw reluctantly followed the two warriors out of camp and up the ravine, head spinning while they muttered to one another. He hadn’t been thrown out, and he was immeasurably relieved. He did have to take care of Yellowfang, though. And the rest of the clan hadn’t looked happy with him at all. He couldn’t help but wonder if, even though he hadn’t been told to leave, he’d ruined his chances of fitting in.

“I don’t know why Bluestar didn’t just kick you out,” Dustpelt said as they came up on a tree whose roots were coated with thick moss. “It was a stupid move, bringing a Shadow to the camp.”

“I didn’t bring her, though!” he protested. “I just fought her! Redtail was the one who decided to bring her.”

“Come on, kittypet, use your head,” Sandstorm said. “That’s Yellowfang. You don’t know just how much of a legend she is—no way a rookie ‘paw could beat her in a fight just like that. She just used you so she could play the pity game on top of healer law. She wanted everyone to think she was pathetic enough that she wasn’t a threat.”

“But—”

Dustpelt shoved his muzzle into Firepaw’s face. “And you still fed her,” he growled. “And ate some of the rabbit yourself.”

“Well…” Firepaw shot Sandstorm a surprised look when, instead of backing him up, she twitched her whiskers mischievously. “I can’t really blame him for that, and neither can you. Remember when Tigerclaw caught _you_ swallowing mice during hunting trips?”

Dustpelt’s fur stood on end. “What?!”

“And the kittypet only ate a bit of a rabbit,” she continued. “As for feeding her, well, who’s gonna pass up on a chance to feed _Yellowfang?_ ”

“He barely knows who she is!”

“I guess.”

“Can you just teach me how to make nests?” Firepaw interjected. “I’m going to hear enough about this later.”

Sandstorm sniffed. “That’s your problem, Firepaw. Dumb as a rock. A kit could figure out how to make a stupid nest. Watch.”

She extended her claws and with deliberate care, pulled the moss away from the roots. Though bits of dirt came with it, they were easily brushed away with a sweep of her tail. She put it to the side and pulled up some more.

“Try,” she ordered after the third piece. Behind her, Dustpelt busily rolled up the moss she’d already collected.

He sank his claws into the moss, but it fell apart in his paws. It took two tries before Sandstorm batted him away.

“Look, you have to move with it,” she said. “If you stay near the edges, you’ll rip it apart. Pull from as close to the place where it still touches the dirt as possible. The slower you go, the less dirt you’ll get too.”

That time, he was able to pull a decent sized piece off. After a few more tries, he could pull pieces nearly as big as Sandstorm’s. There was something rhythmic and calming about the job. He didn’t mind it as much as he thought he would.

“Good,” she said, and he was surprised that it wasn’t barbed or sarcastic. “Now roll it up and squeeze as much water out of it as possible.”

He obeyed. Once they’d done that, the three of them carried the moss back to camp. She didn’t head for the Elder’s Den, though, and instead carried it all to the clearing in the Healer’s Den where the light filtered in. Firepaw hadn’t noticed before, but some of the shelves of rock were already filled with moss.

“The moss has been left to dry properly,” she said. “Take it and replace it with the stuff we just gathered.”

“I thought we already got all the water out?” he said.

He winced, expecting a rebuke, only to again be surprised by her patience. “Moss holds water better than Greypaw’s fur. It needs time to dry, so we always have some left out in the Healer’s Den.”

While he put up the moss, he heard Dustpelt whisper to Sandstorm: “Seriously, Sandstorm, you’ve really gone all mentor mode on this kid.”

“Listen,” she growled, “if he ends up complaining to Dad, I’m never getting an apprentice.”

Firepaw stifled a huff. Of course it was too good to be true. She was just sucking up to him because she knew Redtail would hear about it otherwise. To think he thought she might actually be nicer than he thought.

Though, she _had_ defended him for eating the rabbit scraps. She couldn’t possibly have been doing that to suck up to Redtail.

“Here, you’ll need this too.” Sandstorm handed him what looked to be a rabbit for a moment, until he realized that there was no bones or flesh. It was like the pouch, but with the fur still on it and nothing to cinch it into a sack. “Skinned that off a rabbit. Interesting, huh? It’ll help keep that old sack of bones warm.”

They led him to the Elder’s Den, where One-eye, Smallear, and Halftail were all lying outside. Smallear’s glare bored into him, but he pretended not to notice as Sandstorm directed him on how to make the nest in the batch of ferns beside the fallen tree.

“So Yellowfang will be joining us here?” Halftail asked worriedly. “I’m not so sure about that, with the nursery not so far away…”

“I’m not so sure about any of this,” Smallear grouched. “ _Especially_ the fact that we’re keeping a _traitor_ in the clan.”

“Every apprentice breaks that rule, Smallear.” One-eye’s mouth split into a huge yawn. “Hardly makes a difference.”

“He didn’t run off the old hag!”

“No, but personally I admire his compassion.”

For the first time since he’d returned to camp, Firepaw felt a hint of relief. Maybe the entire clan _wouldn’t_ hate him.


	17. Chapter 14

Firepaw wasn’t allowed to go to the Gathering, but he’d expected as much. Instead he was stuck in camp. He batted around a moss ball for a while, but it could only entertain him for so long. While he was on his back, batting absently at it, a dainty white head came to block his view. It was Frostfur, who had just moved to the nursery with Lionheart’s kits.

“Want something to do?” she asked gruffly.

He scrambled to his feet. “ _Please.”_

“Go get moss. I’m cleaning out the nursery.” She jerked her head over to Fuzzypelt, standing a small ways away. “Fuzzypelt will go with you.”

He nodded and trotted over to Fuzzypelt, who led him out of camp and up the ravine to where the best moss was. As he lost himself to the rhythmic tearing of moss, though, he was interrupted. He hadn’t expected Fuzzypelt to speak to him.

“Is Ravenpaw doing well?” he asked.

Firepaw’s ears perked up. “Huh? What do you mean?”

Fuzzypelt hadn’t even started grabbing moss. Instead he stared at it with a faraway look in his eyes. He looked frighteningly similar to his son, right down to the way his left ear would twitch when he was nervous.

“You already know that Ravenpaw was late leaving the nursery,” he said. “The clan nearly thought he was a lost cause. Even after Whitestorm managed—even after Whitestorm had convinced him to start training, his heart wasn’t in it. Meeting you and getting closer with Greypaw, though… He’s a lot happier now. He has drive.”

“Yeah, but…I’m a house cat,” he muttered. “Do you really want him being friends with a _house cat_?”

Fuzzypelt blinked. “Ravenpaw’s mother was once a rogue,” he said. “I have no qualm with outsiders. The clan doesn’t say this out loud, but outsider blood has its own boons: mainly, it preserves our blood and brings in new strength to the clan.” He sighed. “If only she saw it that way. If she could make the clan forget that she was ever from the outside, she would do it in an instant.”

“Oh, I…I didn’t know,” he said. “I guess that’s why she’s so against me joining the clan? Because she thinks being an outsider…makes you weak or something?”

“She’s under the notion that she needs to work harder just to be accepted, and extends that belief to anyone else who comes in from the outside,” he said. “But personally? I think you’ll make a strong warrior, Firepaw. Many of us need to realize that it’s not all about battle—look at me. I’ve never been in a fight, but that doesn’t mean I can’t serve my clan by hunting or creating. We are more than just war, but most of us would never give peace a chance.

“I doubt that will change any time soon,” he continued, “but it’s nice to see that I’m not the only one in the clan who thinks that way. That’s why you helped Yellowfang, right? You decided to give peace a chance, and that’s admirable.”

He stared at Fuzzypelt, shocked that the warrior would _praise him_ for helping Yellowfang. He immediately felt guilty. Ever since he’d helped the old molly, he’d regretted it, selfishly wishing he’d driven her off to make the clan like him more. It wouldn’t have been right, though. It felt nice to have a little pride for his act.

“Thanks, Fuzzypelt,” he said. “Who knows. Maybe things _will_ change.”

He gives a long sigh. “I wouldn’t get your hopes up.”

They gathered moss in silence. After helping as much as he could with the nursery, Firepaw turned to where Yellowfang was sprawled in her nest. Darkstripe was standing guard nearby, though he seemed to be dozing on the job. He walked over.

“Yellowfang? Do you need anything?” he asked.

One of her wicked orange eyes opened a crack. “How ‘bout a damn mouse? Feels like I haven’t eaten in ages, waiting for you to come ‘round and do it.”

He bit his tongue and retrieved a mouse from the hollow where they kept prey. It was cool inside. According to Redtail, it helped the food not spoil. He wasn’t sure why that was, and when he’d asked Redtail hadn’t either. He wished he could figure it out.

He brought the mouse over to Yellowfang and watched her devour it. She ate like she was starving—she always did, and he couldn’t help but wonder if that was because of her exile, or if that was just a Shadowclan thing. He wondered about her ears, too. She hadn’t been the only Shadow with stubs on their head. Even Cloudpelt had had his ears cropped. Only Brokenstar had had his stubby ears intact.

“So what’s with the Shadows having no ears?” he decided to sate his curiosity.

Yellowfang swiped her tongue around her mouth. “What do you care?”

“I just want to know. I’m curious.”

She eyed him warily. “Alright, kittypet, I’ll humour you. It’s for battle. You don’t have ears, you save yourself a world of hurt,” she said. “Remember when I was biting your ear? It hurt, huh?”

He winced from the memory. She’d left a neat little V-shape in the side and it still burned even after Spottedleaf had put some sort of leaf gunk on it.

“It’s a good place to attack,” she continued. “A Shadow’s ears are cut off when they become warriors.”

All the fur on his shoulders raise. “By _other Shadows?_ ” he said in disbelief.

“Mmhm.” She licked her paw and drew it over her face. “By the healer, specifically.”

“But that’s…”

“Barbaric?” she said flatly. “It’s saved us dozens of losses. A cat with their ears still intact can have them clawed and bitten—and did you know, the easiest way to control your opponent is with the head? Where the head goes, the body follows. If you have your jaws around a cat’s ear, you’re in control of the battle.”

“Wow, I didn’t know that.”

She shrugged. “I’m not sure Thunders teach their ‘paws that.”

“Me neither…but why tell me, then?”

She snorted. “Do you really think I care what a kittypet knows about fighting technique?” she growled. “I’m surprised you’ve lasted this long in the forest.”

At first, he recoiled, thinking about just leaving the conversation at that. But he’d been nothing but helpful towards this molly. _And_ he’d beaten her in that fight—no matter what Sandstorm, Dustpelt, or anyone said.

“I’ve had it!” He shoved his nose into her face. “Stop calling me a kittypet!” he snarled. “I may have been a house cat, but that doesn’t make me any less capable of being a Thunderclan warrior! Remember that I _won_ our fight—and I don’t care if you were weak and hungry, because a regular house cat _couldn’t_ have done that.”

She stared at him in utter shock. She began to shake and cough, and for a second Firepaw began to panic, wondering if he should get Spottedleaf. He soon realized that she was laughing, though, as she threw back her head with a guffaw.

“Alright,” she said, whiskers still twitching. “You have some bite, Firepaw, I’ll give you that. Why don’t you go get me some lion’s mane flower heads from Spot, hm? Need a little something to numb the pain. You did get my leg good, after all. And you’re right: a real kittypet… _house cat_ , couldn’t have done that.”

Flustered, he blurted out: “So you didn’t use me?”

“Use you?” she said flatly.

“Sandstorm—” He sighed, then muttered, “Sandstorm said that you let me claw you up so you’d seem more pathetic and so Bluestar would agree.”

Yellowfang bared her teeth. “I’ll never understand how a brat like her came out of a cat like Redtail,” she growled. “No, Firepaw, I didn’t let you claw me up. You caught me off guard and gave me a scar that won’t be going away anytime soon.”

He stared at her, dumbfounded again by the praise. He stood around for too long, though.

“Now you’re sitting there like a damn deer in the headlights!” she snapped. “Go be useful and get me some lion’s mane!”

Yeah, that was more like it. With a roll of his eyes, he walked away to do as she asked.

Towards the end of the day, Cinderpaw and Swiftpaw came back first. Swiftpaw looked exhausted (which didn’t surprise him, as he didn’t so fondly remember the first few days of his training) but Cinderpaw looked miraculously filled with energy. She proudly deposited a mouse in front of One-Eye, who praised her gleefully.

She then trotted over to him. “Firepaw! Did you see that mouse?! I caught it first try!”

“That’s awesome,” he said. “You’re going to be a pretty good hunter, huh?”

“Only the best,” she purred. “Sorry you’re still stuck in camp, though. What do you do all day anyways?”

“You’re looking at it.”

“Seriously? So boring. Oh!” She skittered to the side, tail waving excitedly. “I know! You should ask the elders to tell you stories! You didn’t get to hear them all growing up like Swifty and I, but you can listen to them all now!”

His ears perked with interest, but he hesitated. “I don’t know if anyone wants to talk to me,” he admitted.

“Aw, well, you won’t know until you try it, right? Wait a moment, lemme think…” She tapped a claw on her chin. “You should ask about… Oh, do you know anything about the Founders?”

“The Founders?”

“Great! That’s one of One-eye’s _best_ stories. Go ask her about it! Do it now!”

She gave him a hefty swat that was more than enough to get him loping across the clearing. She may still be young, but he had the feeling that she would be just as big as Greypaw once she finished growing. As it was, she was already bigger than he was. He dreaded having yet another denmate who could push him around so easily.

But then again, at least she didn’t hate him. That alone was a relief.

Yellowfang was asleep, and the elders were lying outside shooting her looks and talking in hushed tones. He was surprised that none of them had gone to the Gathering, and disappointed that Smallear had stayed behind as well. Smallear who, unfortunately, was the first one to catch sight of him approaching.

“Oh what does the damn kittypet want?” he growled.

At his reproach, Firepaw slowed to a hesitant stop, ears back. He thought about quitting while he was ahead, but One-eye beckoned him forward.

“Come on, ‘paw, let’s hear it,” she said.

She’d always been friendly to him, no matter how grouchy Smallear was. Comforted by her warmth, he walked over. “Cinderpaw said that you tell really good stories,” he said, “and she mentioned something called the Founders? I-I was hoping…”

“You want to hear a story?” Halftail said in surprise.

Even Smallear looked a little taken aback. “Aren’t you a bit old and… _foreign_ to be asking for stories?”

“Well I…”

“I think it’s a good thing,” One-eye said. “You’re committed to learning more about your new home. Good on you.”

“So you’ll tell me?”

“Of course. Get comfortable, and I’ll tell you about how the clans came to be.”


	18. Chapter 15

“Do you know how there are four great oaks in the Gathering place? They say that it was there the Founders were buried, their souls so powerful that they sparked the growth of those massive trees—trees whose roots span the entirety of the forest, holding it together through every catastrophe.

“But you want to know of their life, not of their death.

“The Founders, see, were said to be god-blessed. Like a cat named for the strength of gods, the Founders held the powers of the stars in their paws, blessing their kin and the cats that dedicated themselves to them. In the beginning, when there were no true healers, the Founders were as much leaders as they were the voice of the stars.

“They were the first true ‘stars, with the power of the heavens breathed into them and granting them the ability to create the four clans.

“Each clan named for them, Shadow was a molly of the darkest nights. It is said that she had many powers—to speak suggestion into the ears of the vulnerable, to see no matter the obstruction, and to survive no matter the odds. She was wily and proud, as cold humoured and untrusting as her descendants.

“River was a tom of the raging waters of the river. He too was blessed—with senses far beyond that of any cat, with perfect understanding of the cats around him, and with the ability to flow like the water he so dearly loved. Like Riverclan today he flowed like the river, a lazy lover of lyrics and longing.

“Wind was a molly of the moorland gales. Many claim that she could remember anything and speak the languages of any animal, that her murmurs could make plants grow and bend to her whim, and that she could ride the breeze itself, moving from one place to the next with seemingly no in between. She was dry humoured and quite proud, connected to nature in a way no other cat was.

“And of course there was Thunder, a tom of the bustling woods. The strongest, the bravest, and the most skilled hunter of the founders, he could become one with the bush shade, win every battle without a scratch, and see his opponent’s moves before they themself knew what they would do. He was loud and courageous like we are today—never one to back down from battle.

“With such cats as our predecessors, it only makes sense that the clans are as prosperous as they are today. Divinity dictated our presence in this forest—a divinity that no cat can deny. And when they died, the stardust among their paws created Starclan, a place where all of their descendants could be rewarded after serving their due in the living world.”

“Wow,” Firepaw breathed, so enraptured by One-eye’s story that he hadn’t noticed the time pass at all. He’d settled in front of the elders, paws tucked beneath him as the old molly had held him tight with the power of her words. “And they really had powers? All this really happened?”

“Of course,” Smallear growled. “Do you doubt us?”

“No! It’s just so amazing, I, I never thought something like that could even exist, much less be _real_ ,” he breathed. “How come cats don’t have power like that now?”

“They do, in a way,” Halftail said. “Thunder gave us the ability of the silent hunters, Shadow gave her clan the ability to see in the darkest nights, River gave his clan the power to brave the wildest waters, and Wind gave her clan the ability to run swift across the moorlands.”

“That’s amazing. I didn’t know the clans had so much history.”

One-eye chuckled. “That barely scratches the surface, ‘paw. Fortunately, you’ll have plenty of time to hear more stories from us. And hopefully plenty of curiosity to seek us out.”

“Yes, of course! I’d love to hear more stories!”

Before the elders could oblige, though, all their ears perked up at the sound of the Gathering patrol returning. Everyone started getting up.

“Another night, then,” One-eye promised. “In the meantime, let’s see what that spoiled brat Brokenstar had to say tonight.”

“Definitely,” he agreed.

Obviously nothing important, as Bluestar made a beeline straight for her den. One-eye stopped Mousefur, though, and asked her how the Gathering had gone. Firepaw joined Ravenpaw and Greypaw.

“So what happened?” he asked.

“You mean besides Greypaw flirting with Silverpaw all night?” Ravenpaw said dryly.

“We’re just friends,” Greypaw grumbled. “And you were talking to Owlwhisker the entire time.”

Ravenpaw flattened his ears, but Firepaw interjected: “You spoke to someone, Ravenpaw? That’s great!”

Blindsided by the compliment, Ravenpaw sputtered. “He spoke to me first,” he mumbled.

“Seriously, though, did anything interesting happen?”

“Well, actually,” Greypaw shuffled closer, shooting a look at Yellowfang, “we learned that Yellowfang _isn’t_ the kit killer.”

“Wait, seriously? And Bluestar didn’t announce it?”

“I think she’s going to talk to the senior warriors first, probably,” he said. “But Brokenstar came in yowling about how she’d killed one of the new apprentices, Badgerpaw, just a few nights ago. You know, the night we found her in her territory.”

“So if Yellowfang isn’t killed Shadow kits, who is?”

“Iunno. Maybe Yellowfang knows the real killer. Maybe you should ask her,” he added with a snicker.

“Why me?”

“Well you’re her kitsitter. Getting all buddy-buddy with her and all.”

Firepaw sighed, especially as Ravenpaw stifled a chuckle as well. He deserved this, though. And he was starting to see the brighter side of his punishment now, anyways.

They sat around gossiping about the other things they’d heard at the Gathering, little goings-on. Mistfoot, a River queen, had moved to the nursery with Blackclaw’s kits. He winced to hear that a River warrior, Reedtail, had been killed by a dog (though Bluestar had said nothing about the dog coming from their territory).

Ravenpaw mentioned offhand that there’d been new Shadowclan apprentices at the Gathering, Badgerpaw’s two siblings, but they’d looked rather small. It stuck with him for some reason.

As the sun began to rise and they were about to call it a night, Bluestar emerged from her den with Redtail and Spottedleaf tailing her. They watched her first call over Lionheart and Whitestorm and share a few words with them, and then looked straight at them. After a moment, she beckoned them over.

“I’m sure Ravenpaw and Greypaw already told you about what we learned tonight?” she said to Firepaw as they walked over.

Greypaw and Ravenpaw looked sheepish as Firepaw laughed nervously and nodded. “They did, ma’am.”

“Well it looks like your instincts were correct,” she said. “But if Yellowfang isn’t stealing kittens…the alternative worries me even more. It’s time we had guidance from Starclan. The three of you are well into your training, and I think it’s time you visited the Moonstone.”

“The what?” Firepaw said.

“It is a sacred place where the clans can commune with Starclan more effectively,” Spottedleaf answered. “All the apprentices visit it at some point before they become warriors, where they may receive a hint about their future with the clan and take one step closer to joining clan life as a full warrior.”

Greypaw squeaked with barely restrained excitement, but Firepaw felt sudden dread. What if Starclan didn’t accept him? What if this wasn’t meant to be?

But Bluestar spoke over those concerns. “I will ask Tigerclaw to accompany you on your journey. You will need a full day’s travel, so you will sleep today, rest tomorrow night, and then leave just before dawn for Windclan territory.”

“In the _sun_?” Ravenpaw blurted out.

“Don’t worry, sweetpaw,” Spottedleaf said. “I will prepare the necessary charms so we can go into the sun without Hiverne’s interference. Now get some rest, the three of you. It’s a long way to go.”

They walked back to the apprentice den, but Firepaw lagged behind, bees buzzing in his brain. How could he sleep now with something like this looming over his head?

He stopped when Ravenpaw and Greypaw blocked his way into the den. “What’s wrong? Why did you stop?”

“Because you look worried,” Ravenpaw said. “Why?”

“Well, it’s, it’s…dangerous,” he said. “Of course I’m worried.”

Ravenpaw looked doubtful, but Greypaw put a paw on his shoulder. “But we’ll have _Tigerclaw_ with us,” he said. “We’ll be fine.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

“I’ll sleep closer to you today,” he added. “Maybe that’ll help.”

He hoped so too. “Okay. Thank you.”

But the moment he curled up in his nest, Ravenpaw and Greypaw flanking him tightly on either side, he knew he wouldn’t be getting a wink of sleep that night.


	19. Chapter 16

Time flew by and soon they were in Spottedleaf’s den, being handed charms to loop around their necks. Spottedleaf assured them that the charms would last until they returned home, but the herbs would lose their potency on their way back.

“A little bad luck won’t kill us, though,” she said with a laugh. “We’ll probably find some rotten prey or something, is all.”

“Why don’t we use these charms more?” Firepaw said, studying the little bag of herbs.

“Sun spice berries are quite hard to find,” she replied. “I’d rather use them sparingly. The amount of times Featherwhisker needed to ask another clan to borrow theirs.”

“Oh, okay.”

On their way out of camp, Redtail came up to him. “Good luck,” he said. “You’ll be going through Windclan territory, but because you have a healer and your destination is the Moonstone, they have no right to attack you. Just remember to let Spot do the talking, and that you still cannot hunt until you’ve reached the other side.”

“I’ll remember,” he promised.

“Alright.” He gave his brow a swift lick. “Be safe. I’ll see you soon—and hopefully with answers.”

And then they were trotting through the forest. It felt good to be on the move again. So good that Firepaw couldn’t help but stretch his strides, springing ahead of Tigerclaw and Spottedleaf. Fortunately, the older cats must have realized that he needed a run. They let him speed ahead, all the way to the Owl Tree, and then perch on a root to wait.

_Off to look for answers, hm?_ He leapt up when he heard the creaky voice, but immediately relaxed when he realized that it was only the stone guardians. In fact, a large rock lay at the edge of the clearing.

“We are,” he said warily. “We want to know what happened to the kits.”

_Oh? The Shadow and the Wind kits, you mean?_

“Yes. We know it wasn’t Yellowfang now.”

_Of course it wasn’t her. She said as much._

That gave him pause. “She talks to you?”

_She does, yes._

“But how would you know she isn’t lying?”

_We smell lies, Firebrand. You don’t dare lie to us._

“Then do you know who _did_ kill the kittens?”

A long silence followed. As he heard the patrol’s approaching footsteps, he nearly gave up on hoping for an answer. He hopped down from the roots, only to hear on the very edge of his hearing.

_Of course we know. But what would you tell us, to trade for it?_

He whipped around, mouth open to begin demands, but Tigerclaw had emerged from the bushes and the opportunity was lost.

“You look like Starclan’s come down and offered you a mouse,” the big cat chuckled as he strode past.

“Just thought I heard something,” he said, falling in beside him while the others trailed a small ways behind.

“Ah, sharp hearing. Probably what’s made you such a good hunter.”

He blinked in surprise. “You think I’m a good hunter?”

“I do.” He turned and appraised him. “The clan doesn’t give you enough credit, Firepaw. You have potential, and I don’t think they see that.” In a lower voice, he added, “You deserve more, wouldn’t you agree?”

He hesitated. “I don’t know. I messed up pretty badly, eating that rabbit.”

“Every ‘paw makes that mistake. Just because you were a house cat doesn’t mean you should be punished any more harshly for it.”

“I haven’t though. I think I got off easy. All I have to do is take care of Yellowfang.”

“You’ve been punished more than you think. No other apprentice is shunned and ignored by most of their clan for a simple mistake like that.”

That was true, he thought. Just when he’d thought he’d gotten the end of the clan’s dirty looks, he’d eaten the rabbit scraps and suddenly the clan hated him all over again. He doubted they were as harsh when Dustpelt had been caught swallowing mice.

_Beware honeyed words, Firepaw._

He looked sharply to his left, dying to question the guardian. It didn’t matter, though. Tigerclaw seemed to have moved on from the conversation, pulling ahead to lead the way around the Gathering hollow. The fur on Firepaw’s shoulders began to spike as they came closer and closer to the Windclan scent line.

“Ugh, this is making my skin crawl,” Greypaw muttered as they crossed the border. “You don’t just cross another clan’s border.”

Ravenpaw was more concerned with the sky. “I just don’t see why we had to do it on the sunniest day of the week,” he said. “I hope I don’t hurt something again. I don’t want to miss more training.”

“If you do, though, at least I’ll be in camp to keep you company,” Firepaw pointed out.

“True, but I won’t be able to do anything…”

They moved across Windclan territory with no sign of the Windclan cats. Firepaw squinted in the sunlight, already with exhaustion tugging at his limbs. He couldn’t even try to enjoy the new sights and smells of heather, gorse, and vast blue skies—they only seemed to make him that much more tired.

“You know I thought it’d be neat to leave the territory,” he said aloud to Greypaw and Ravenpaw, “but now I’m just tired.”

Greypaw’s jaws split into a huge yawn. “Great, and it’s contagious too. Daytime sucks.”

“The sun’s too hot on my back,” Ravenpaw added.

“You’d walk faster if you weren’t whining so much,” Spottedleaf tossed over her shoulder. “And we’d be out of the sun if you walked faster.”

Firepaw reluctantly increased his pace, if only hopes of getting a bit of a break by the time they reached the edges of the Winds’ territory.

“The border’s up ahead,” Tigerclaw said as the sun reached its zenith. “We’ll take a small break there, and then make our way through the farmland. There’s a place to hunt past that, where we’ll stop for another break, and then as the sun sets we’ll cross the road and make our way to Highstones and the Moonstone.”

“Wait, we’re crossing a road?” Ravenpaw squeaked. “You didn’t say we were crossing a road!”

“We’ll talk about it when we take our first break, Ravenpaw. It won’t be as bad as you think.”

That didn’t stop Ravenpaw from trembling for the rest of the walk over the border and back into the underbrush. After a small ways, Tigerclaw led them underneath a long wall of neat looking bushes, where they made themselves cozy between the trunks. Firepaw peered through the other side and saw rows and rows of dirt mounds with small plants beginning to poke through and grow.

“Past here is the farm,” Tigerclaw said. “It’s ideal to wait until it’s a bit later, when the humans are back in their homes, before we head for the barn. There, we can hunt and take a longer rest.”

“But what about the road?” Ravenpaw fretted.

“I was going to talk about that next.”

“What’s the big deal about the road?” Firepaw said. “Just make sure there’s no cars and you’ll be fine.”

“The sentiment is nice, sweetpaw, but this road is different than your town roads,” Spottedleaf said. “The cars that travel on it are much, much faster—even if you don’t see any coming, they’re fast enough to reach you and crush you if you aren’t careful.”

“O-Oh.”

“That’s why the road between us and the Shadows is so dangerous. It’s the same one here, just further down,” she added. “But oh, it’s such a good place to find black night tar weed…”

Tigerclaw cleared his throat. “That said, the road is much quieter at night, which is why it isn’t usually a problem. There are trees on either side that one of us will climb to have a better vantage. There’s a good chance we won’t even see a car.”

Finally Ravenpaw sighed with relief. “Okay. That doesn’t sound so bad.”

Tigerclaw ghosted his tail tip across Ravenpaw’s chest. “It isn’t, I promise. As an apprentice, the road worried me too, but you’ll be fine.”

After the break, Firepaw was eager to get to the barn and eat. He’d never seen a barn before, but Princess—who’d wandered quite far—had told them about them before. Apparently the ones she’d been to were brimming with mice fat on winter feed. He couldn’t wait to sink his teeth into one.

“A loner lives here,” Tigerclaw said as they approached the barn. “His name’s Barley. Be polite to him—he’s opened his home to us.”

“Wait, what’s the difference between a rogue and a loner?” Firepaw asked.

“A rogue causes trouble,” Tigerclaw said with a hint of a growl. “A loner has the courteous to keep to themself.”

“Why do we have to be polite?” Greypaw muttered. “He’s just one cat.”

“Just because we outnumber a cat doesn’t mean we should exercise that advantage,” Tigerclaw retorted. “Barley has been nothing but kind to the clans.”

Barley was asleep outside the barn doors when they arrived. He was a massive black and white tom, but Firepaw had a suspicion that half of his bulk was fur (though the other half was certainly fat).

“Ah, looks like the forest cats are back,” he said lazily. “Which one is this again?”

“Thunderclan,” Tigerclaw replied. “I’m Tigerclaw, the ‘paws are Firepaw, Ravenpaw, and Greypaw, and this is—”

“Spottedleaf,” Barley finished. “That one I know.”

“I’d be insulted if you didn’t,” she said airily. “Might we stay?”

He flicked his tail. “Plenty of mice.”

They hunted. Firepaw ate so many mice that he thought he would never walk again. While he and Greypaw lay together, lazily grooming the spots they couldn’t reach, Tigerclaw and Spottedleaf spoke (it sounded a bit more like arguing) in hushed tones. Ravenpaw, surprisingly, was speaking with Barley at the door.

“You know,” Firepaw spoke up after awhile, “I’m really happy for Ravenpaw.”

“Me too,” Greypaw agreed. “He seems…better.”

“Mmhm.”

“Too bad his family is full of assholes,” Greypaw continued. “They’re probably the reason he’s…y’know. Like once I heard Dustpelt say that he doesn’t even think of Ravenpaw as his brother because he’s pathetic. Who does that?”

“Seriously? That’s terrible.” He laid his head on Greypaw’s back and sighed. “He’s got us, though.”

“Yeah, he does.”

After spending some time dozing, Tigerclaw had them up and moving again. Ravenpaw, who had come away from Barley’s barn content and happy, was shaky again as they approached the road.

“I’ll be in the tree,” Tigerclaw said. “You can all cross at the same time, because it looks quiet. Go when I give the signal.”

Like Tigerclaw had promised, they didn’t see any cars, not even while Spottedleaf climbed a tree on the other side and gave him the okay to join them. From there, they moved up an incline, across ground that steadily became rockier and rockier. Soon, they were on open stone, with a whole sky of stars stretched across the heavens above them.

“Silverpelt,” Ravenpaw breathed. “I’ve never seen her so clearly.”

“Silverpelt’s the night sky, right?” Firepaw asked.

“She is. There’s a lot of stories about her,” he replied. “Like how she watches over us with the moons as her eyes.”

“Mmhm. And the stars? Are they just a part of her pelt?”

“They’re the eyes of our ancestors past, also watching us. Silverpelt keeps them safe in her fur when they pass on.”

“Tell him the best Silverpelt story!” Greypaw said from Ravenpaw’s other side.

“The…one where her tears cured the Wilting Drought?”

“ _No,_ the one where she ripped Hiverne’s eye right out of his stupid skull like a badass!” He sprang forward, tearing into an invisible enemy with his claws. “Haaah! Just like that! And then she pinned his stupid face to the ground and told him that the cats will respect the night and _never_ the day! Except for the stupid Winds.”

“Oh yeah Redtail told me that she took his eye,” Firepaw said, laughing at Ravenpaw’s withering sigh. “What do you mean about the Winds, though?”

“Windclan can go out in the day,” Ravenpaw said. “They took Hiverne’s side in the war.”

“Really? Does that mean they’re punished for going out at night?”

“No, Silverpelt’s a lot more forgiving,” Ravenpaw said. “Or at least that’s what the Winds say. A lot of Thunder stories say that the Winds manipulated their way into her good graces.”

“They probably did,” Greypaw said. “It’s Windclan after all.”

“Windclan doesn’t really… _manipulate_ ,” Ravenpaw said. “Sweet talking is more for the Rivers, I think. You should know that, talking with Silverpaw all the time.”

Greypaw just rolled his eyes.

As the sun disappeared behind the distant hills, a black maw emerged from the ground before them. Though Tigerclaw and Spottedleaf approached it confidently, the three apprentices slowed. Tigerclaw stopped just inside the maw, while Spottedleaf disappeared into the darkness.

“This tunnel leads to the Moonstone,” he said, amber eyes gleaming from the shadows. “I want the three of you to go ahead of me—Ravenpaw in the middle—in single file. Firepaw, you first.”

Not wanting to seem afraid when Tigerclaw looked so at ease, he forced himself forward. Once he was inside, though, it was surprisingly cozy. The darkness pushed in on him and welcomed him. He wondered if it had something to do with the divine. Did spirits live here too?

The tunnel wound on forever. He could feel Ravenpaw’s breath on his tail, but even he seemed calmed by the dark.

Soon, they emerged into a moonlit cavern, where Spottedleaf waited with her tail curled neatly around her paws. She briefly glanced at him with lidded eyes. They glowed brilliantly in the half-light, capturing the light of Silverpelt’s gaze and cradling it inside of her. For the first time, she truly felt like a cat with a paw in another world, a cat with a paw in the stars and a tongue that spoke the sounds of midnight.

And then past her, growing in jagged waves from the floor, was the moonstone. It caught the light and glittered with all the pinpricks sparks of the night sky, the vastness of the heavens trapped in the glimmering depths.

“Don’t speak,” Spottedleaf said as they filtered into the room. “Only the voices of the stars may be heard in here.”

They nodded solemnly, seating themselves on the cold rock and pressing into one another.

“Good. We have a small wait ahead. When I tell you it’s alright, each of you will stand up, press your nose to the stone, and then find a place to curl up and sleep. Starclan will come to you in your dreams.”

Firepaw ached to ask her what the dreams were like. Would he see an actual Starclan cat? He bit his tongue to help himself fight the temptation.

“Afterwards, you shouldn’t share your dream with anyone,” she continued. “If you absolutely must, speak about it with me. Understood?”

They all three nodded again. Silence followed.

A peace sat in the little cavern. The chilled, heather laced smells of the world above intermixed with the damp, earthy smells of the one below, twining into something new entirely. He couldn’t define this scent, but it soothed him. He closed his eyes and drank it in.

“Ah, here it comes.”

Firepaw opened his eyes only the squeeze them shut again as the room filled with light. He managed to open them a crack to behold the Moonstone, now shining as brilliantly as its namesake and filling every corner of the room with blinding light. It turned Spottedleaf silver and her eyes pure white. She looked like a spectre.

“Firepaw,” she said, gesturing towards the Moonstone with just the slightest twitch of her tail.

Swallowing hard, he approached the stone and pressed his nose to it. The moment he touched it, a cold began to seep into him. As he tottered towards the edge of the room, it slipped into his gut and down his legs, all the way to the tip of his tail and the bottoms of his pads. By the time he curled up, sleep was on him.

“Why…are you here?”

He jerked away, head shooting up, but he was surrounding by blinding whiteness. He leapt to his paws, breaths coming short and panicked.

“What do you mean?” he croaked.

The voices barraged him from all sides.

“We didn’t call you.”

“Who called you?”

“Why did you come?”

“What meant you to be here?”

“What does your presence mean?”

“What do you mean?”

Firepaw flattened himself to the floor and covered his ears, trembled. He wasn’t supposed to be here. He was right. Starclan didn’t want him. Thunderclan didn’t either. Why _was_ he here?

“Because you were asked to make a decision, and you did.”

His head jerked up. He recognized that voice. He recognized this place, on the grass before the silver barked tree. He didn’t see the furless cat, though, could only hear them.

“Where’s the white place?” he whispered, voice shaking.

“You didn’t want to be there.” He nodded, still trembling and trying to swallow the panic in the throat. “So I brought you here.”

“That was Starclan, wasn’t it?” he said miserably, hanging his head. “I’m not—I’m not supposed to be here.”

“You let dead cats tell you where you do and do not belong?”

He raised his head. “What do you mean?”

“What did you feel when you joined Thunderclan? When you stepped foot into the woods for the first time?”

“Like—Like it was right.”

“And you still feel that, don’t you? Were you not afraid when you thought they would cast you out?”

“I… I was.”

“And yet you want to listen to the words of cats long past? Why would you let another guide your pawsteps with honeyed words and callous disdain? Are you not the singular force behind your own destiny—he who chooses his place in the world?”

He blinked. “But they’re Starclan.”

“Starclan are long past leaving an imprint on the world. You are the living one, not them.”

“So…I _was_ supposed to join Thunderclan?”

“Because you wanted to join them, yes.”

He gazed up into the branches of the tree, hoping to see them there. A chill ran down his spine when he spotted shapes in the branches, lithe and cat-like, but only _like_. The fluidity of their movements, the stillness of their tails and ears, and the gleam of what seemed to be too many eyes on one or two of them had him backing away.

“And you’re not Starclan, are you?”

Laughter answered him. Bitter laughter. The entire tree lit up with it. It wasn’t just the hairless cat here.

As it died down, they answered: “No. And you’d do well not to mistake us for them again.”

He flattened himself to the ground, a nervous flutter in his gut. “Okay, I’m sorry. But why—”

“Keep going forward,” they interrupted. “You’re about to play a part in clan history that will be shared time and again for generations. Wars will come and go, strife will leave its mark, but among that turmoil the world will breathe in again and restore a balance that you have forgotten was lost.

“You are the champion of the destiny before you. You will need to make choices, but don’t fret. You will always choose correctly as long as the living guide their actions.”

He awoke with a start. The room was pitch black, and everyone had begun to stir. Only Tigerclaw remained awake, staring at the hole in the roof. Feeling like his limbs were made of stone, Firepaw laid still, hoping the feeling would drain away.

Soon Spottedleaf stood up. She sat stone still, though, staring first at the Moonstone, and then turning her amber eyes to Tigerclaw. There was something in her expression that Firepaw couldn’t quite read. He wondered what Starclan had told her.

Once they were all on their feet, they left the cave. Not a word passed between them as they made their way back to Barley’s barn, fortunately unaccosted by cars on the road.

Ravenpaw and Greypaw eagerly curled in the hay, but Firepaw hesitated, staring at the spot they’d left for him. Tigerclaw was at the door, but Spottedleaf had climbed into the loft to stare out the second floor opening. His dream wouldn’t leave him, he knew that. He wasn’t even sure he could sleep, even as exhausted as he was. He climbed up to join her.

“Spottedleaf?” he said, hoping he wasn’t intruding.

Without looking his way, she beckoned him to sit beside her. He did. They stared into Silverpelt’s lidded eyes together.

“So you dreamed?” she finally asked.

“Yeah.”

“Interesting. Not all outsiders do.”

“Really? Does…that mean they weren’t supposed to be with the clan?”

“Maybe. Maybe not.”

“I don’t know if my dream came from Starclan, though,” he admitted.

At that, her head swung around, eyes gleaming with interest. “No? Would you like to tell me about it?”

Though a little taken aback by her intensity, he almost didn’t. But he couldn't help but feel that he could trust her, and his gut hadn’t lied to him yet. So he told her about the odd cats and the silver barked tree, how they laughed at even the thought of being compared to Starclan. He even told her that he’d dreamt about that same place before joining the clan.

“You know what it means, right?” he pressed. “You know who they are?”

“Nope.” His ears drooped. “But whoever they are, sweetpaw, they’re right about one thing: war’s coming, and that’s something they and Starclan can agree on.”

“I guess they didn’t have anything good to tell you?” She shook her head. “But what can we do? How can we find out who they were?”

“I don’t think we can,” she said. “Nor do I think it matters. Whoever they are, they possess a power similar to Starclan’s. Foresight is a powerful ability, and if the strangers have it, I’m sure they have many more.” She paused, slow blinking at the moons, thoughts hazing across her golden orbs. “But something tells me that they have the good of the clans in mind.”

“What? But they’re not Starclan.”

“There’s many things that aren’t Starclan who can do good,” she said. “My ancestors are not the beginning and end of all the good in the world. You will have to trust your judgement, though. So far they haven’t told you to do anything—remarkably, they’ve given you the freedom of choice, regardless of the way the river of time would flow without you—and have only warned you. If that changes, it’s up to you to decide if what they want is right.”

“What if it’s not up to me?”

“Interesting question,” she murmured. “I suppose you will have to wait and see, sweetpaw. Now get some sleep. The next night, we will return home with our news and decide what to do next.”

He stood up, but before jumping down, he hesitated. “Will we be alright, Spottedleaf?”

“Of course we will, sweetpaw,” she said, eyes closed. “We’re Thunderclan.”

With a nod, he leapt down and curled up with Ravenpaw and Greypaw. As he began to drift off, though, he heard Spottedleaf leap down and walk over to Tigerclaw. The last thing he heard before unconsciousness took him was a whispered argument between the two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh heck I forgot to include the pic of Redtail and Firepaw I drew the other day. Don't let me forget to include that in tomorrow's chapter! :U


	20. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Actually instead of just forgetting to post the picture TOMORROW too, I'm going to give y'all a double update today. So if you haven't read the start of Firepaw's journey to the Moonstone, you need to go back a chapter!

Morning came and after a quick hunt they were off again. Spottedleaf led the way, tail high in the air, but Firepaw couldn’t help but notice the sharp look she shot Tigerclaw, and the way he curled his lip in retaliation. He wished he’d had the energy to eavesdrop on their conversation the night before. Too late now.

Spottedleaf set a brisk pace. The clouds were so thick and heavy that it was nearly as dark as nighttime, and would be even darker when the sun set. He suspected she was trying to avoid the rain. He had little hope, though. Especially as they reached Windclan territory and the first fat drops began to fall.

However, she stopped in her tracks about halfway across the territory, when the sun was nearly down and it had become terribly dark and rainy.

“Why are you stopping?” Tigerclaw demanded, joining her up front only to freeze up as well. “Shadowclan…”

“I suspect they’re finally following through on their promise,” Spottedleaf said.

“And attacking the Winds…probably because that brat, Brokenstar, mistook Breezestar not wanting to fight for weakness.”

“You can’t deny that the Shadows have more warriors than any other clan, though,” she said. “I think it would be in our best interest to send help.”

He didn’t respond immediately, tail flicking. “Bluestar and Breezestar and on fine terms…and I don’t think she would want to pass up a chance to show Shadowclan that the clans are willing to band together to prevent them from exercising power…” He nodded once, then turned to the three apprentices.

“We’re not going to fight, are we?!” Ravenpaw said.

“ _You_ aren’t,” Tigerclaw said. “Run back to camp and tell Bluestar to send warriors. Now.”

Ravenpaw shot the other two a panicked look, then tore off across the moor. Tigerclaw shifted his eyes to Greypaw and Firepaw.

“Will you fight?” he asked.

“Yes!” Greypaw said, while Firepaw hesitated.

“Firepaw?” Tigerclaw prompted. “Remember that battle is a part of clan life—”

“I’ll do it,” he said. “I’ll fight.”

He nodded approvingly. “Then let’s go. Spottedleaf—”

“Will be joining you,” she interrupted. “Barkface will appreciate the help.”

His ear twitched. “Fine.”

They took off towards what Firepaw assumed was the Windclan camp. Rain came pouring down harder and harder, until he could barely see for having to blink it out of his eyes. And yet despite the mud covering his belly fur and the water weighing down his fur, he pushed himself harder and harder. And he kept up, too. That pride was enough to keep him warm as the first yowls of battle rose into the air.

He didn’t have a second to be scared. The Windclan camp was found in a small hollow, an old rabbit warren, with yellow blooming gorse bordered high around the edges. Firepaw leapt clear over a sparse spot in the growth and directly onto the back of a Shadowclan warrior.

This brown and white molly was smaller than him, but after his fight with Yellowfang he knew better than to doubt her ferocity. And sure enough, she rounded on him with a shriek, claws flashing across his muzzle. He was fast himself, though. He smacked her back, landing stunning blows to her head to push her back. She blundered into a Windclan warrior, who rounded on her and gave her a nasty bite on the neck. One nasty shake, and he sent her running.

He realized that he knew this warrior. “Wrenwhisker!”

“Firepaw?” he said, blinking rain out of his eyes. “Why is Thunderclan here?”

“To help!”

He nodded. “Good. If we show a united front…”

“Shadowclan won’t want to mess with anyone.”

“Precisely. Stick with me—we’ll work together.”

Firepaw didn’t expect to enjoy the whirl of battle. The high of adrenaline had his heart pounding in a way nothing else did. He relived his first fight with Greypaw, his second with Yellowfang, and drank in that high with increased vigour each and every time. Redtail’s instructions rang clear as he took on warrior after warrior with Wrenwhisker at his side, losing not a single battle.

And as quickly as it began, it was over. A yowl signalled the Shadows’ retreat, and the clearing emptied out. Firepaw stood for a few seconds longer, tail lashing and fur on end, until Wrenwhisker tapped his shoulder.

“It’s over,” he said. “We won.”

At that, he released a breath and sat down. Now that he was looking around, he realized that some Thunderclan warriors _had_ shown up during the battle. He’d been so caught up that he hadn’t even noticed.

But all his energy drained away when he realized that there were bodies on the ground. That’s right. This was a battle. And battles could kill.

“Appledawn!” an apprentice, Whitepaw, wailed. “Appledawn isn’t moving!”

“Grandma!” Sunpaw ran over as well, burying her face into the dead elder’s creamy fur.

“She was protecting the nursery,” said a heavily pregnant calico. “They were targeting the kits and queens.”

“Dishonourable,” Breezestar spat. He had a nasty bite on a leg he was favouring, but seemed alright. “They attacked Barkface’s den too.”

“Fucking cowards,” Lionheart snarled. He, Redtail, Sandstorm, and Dustpelt were among the help Thunderclan sent. “No respect for their enemy.”

“Thank the stars for Tigerclaw,” Barkface said. “He protected the den while Spottedleaf and I helped the injured.”

“Where is Spot?” Redtail said, looking around. Firepaw began walking over to his mentor, but stopped in his tracks when Redtail went rigid. “SPOT!”

Another body lay in the shade of the gorse, unmoving. Firepaw followed more slowly, blood running cold as finally made out Spottedleaf’s dappled coat in the shade. Her throat had been torn out, her eyes glazed over by her last moments of terror. Yet, with how artfully she was stretched across the ground, if he walked to her other side it seemed like she was okay, like she wasn’t dead at all, just asleep.

But he couldn’t deny the blood in her fur, the redness seeping into the mud around her. He couldn’t unsee the tufts of fur stuck in her claws, evidence of her final struggle. And he definitely couldn’t ignore Redtail’s rigid body, bowed over her in barely contained grief, the gentle, tremoring touch of his paw as he ran it through her fur.

“Your healer…” Firepaw looked up at Breezestar, staring wide-eyed at the body. “Redtail…my deepest apologies. I didn’t think Thunderclan would pay such a steep price for our aid—”

“It’s fine,” Redtail said, in a clipped voice that said that it was not fine. He took Spottedleaf into his arms, teetering on his back legs yet pulling her up with little trouble otherwise. “She had an apprentice. Thunderclan will survive without her.”

Breezestar blinked, the blatant lie washing over him, but he nodded nonetheless. “Barkface, do we have herbs to spare for Thunderclan’s most injured?”

“My warriors are fine,” Redtail said as he ran his eyes over his clanmates. Fortunately, from what Firepaw could see, he was right. “But thank you. Take care, Breezestar. I’m sorry for your loss.”

“And I yours, Redtail. Send my thanks to Bluestar.”

Thunderclan left and began the slow trek back home. Greypaw found him and walked beside him, eyes hollow and afraid. And Firepaw didn’t blame him. What would Thunderclan do without a healer? Had this ever happened before?

And then it hit him. Spottedleaf hadn’t been able to tell Bluestar what Starclan had told her. But Tigerclaw must know…right?

As they re-entered the cover of the trees, Redtail called for a break and laid Spottedleaf’s body beneath a clump of ferns. Everyone began to lick their wounds, but Redtail walked over to Tigerclaw.

“Explain to me how Barkface can say that you protected his den and his supplies, and yet,” he drew in a tight breath, “ _and yet_ , our healer is _dead._ ”

Tigerclaw’s ears folded back. “You can’t blame me for her death.”

“She was our healer, Tigerclaw!” he snapped. “You were the only warrior there! You had a responsibility! The entire reason Bluestar sent you along was to protect her!”

“I’m sorry,” he stressed. “She told me to focus on the fight, and that she could take care of herself. I trusted her—”

“You should have followed your better judgement! Our only healer is dead, Tigerclaw!”

“Alright, alright.” Lionheart stepped between them, putting his paws on Redtail’s shoulders. “Tigerclaw’s right: this isn’t his fault. It was a stroke of bad luck—”

Redtail barked out a half-laugh of disbelief. “It’s not a stroke of bad luck it’s a mistake that cost us our healer! What are we—what am I going to do? What am I—” He put a paw to his face covering his eyes. “What am I going to tell Willow?” he whispered. “What am I going to say to Mom and Dad when I bury her beside them?”

Lionheart pulled him to his chest and held him. The rest of the clan moved closer, gently grooming Redtail’s fur and comforting him while Tigerclaw sat off to the side, glaring at the ground between his paws.

Again, Firepaw wondered if Spottedleaf told him what she’d seen. The more he thought about the argument he’d heard them have, though, the more he suspected that her vision couldn’t have possibly been the subject of their discussion. And if they didn’t have a healer, and didn’t have her information…then what?

_Perhaps now you would like to know who really killed the kittens then?_

Firepaw turned and gazed into the woods, in the direction of the whispers of the stone guardians. The fur along his spine rose, twitching in damp spikes across his back. He glanced at the rest of his clanmates, all focused on Redtail, then slunk away.

Once he knew he was out of earshot, he shakily asked: “What do you want to know?”

_Anything, if we don’t know it. A rumour, perhaps. As long as it’s interesting. We know you like to know, and so do we. Why do you think we speak with you?_

He swallowed hard. “Maybe…maybe… It’s interesting, isn’t it, that Tigerclaw and Spottedleaf argued not long before she died?”

As the words came out of his mouth, he felt sick at the very implication. But suddenly he couldn’t shake it, that horrible, dreadful thought that maybe, just maybe, Tigerclaw had _let_ Spottedleaf die. But over an argument? What could they have possibly been arguing about that would drive Tigerclaw to let her die?

_Oh that is interesting, interesting indeed…_ replied the stone guardians.

“Interesting enough?” he said hopefully.

_Such a delightful little implication. Yes, we think that’s interesting enough. And what do you want to know? Be clear and concise, young Firepaw._

His mouth was dry, but he managed to croak: “If Yellowfang isn’t the kit killer, who is?”

_Why, isn’t it obvious? Brokenstar is the kit killer. Yellowfang saw him herself, living sick fantasy as he stole the life of someone who couldn’t fight back. Not the least of his crimes…but perhaps not the most of them, either._

_But you should go, Firepaw. Go before your clan misses you. And remember us the next time you want to talk, and have no one to listen._

Stuttering out a weak thank you, he hurried back to the clan. They’d started moving through the underbrush again, so he slipped up behind, joining Greypaw.

“Where were you?” he whispered. “I told Redtail you, y’know, had to go.”

“That’s why,” he said, taking the lie eagerly. “Sorry I didn’t say anything, but everyone was around Redtail and…”

“Yeah, I get it. And hey…are you okay?” he added. “You’ve never seen someone die, have you?”

The reminder sent a jolt through him. He flattened his ears. “I’m fine,” he said. “It was just…it’s just weird, thinking that she’s gone.”

“Mmhm.”

“And, and now that we don’t have a healer…”

“Yeah.” Greypaw stepped closer, letting their fur brush. “I hope everything works out.”

“Me too, Greypaw.”


	21. Chapter 18

The clan met them with shock. Firepaw sat at the edges, feeling an ache as he watched all the rest of the clan go to their families, reaffirming their bonds. As he watched Willowpelt curl up tearfully against Redtail, he longed for Princess’s comfort, even knowing how poor she’d always been at it.

Only Yellowfang was alone, staring at Spottedleaf’s body with something unknowable in her vivid orange eyes. A part of him wanted to talk to her, too. He didn’t know why. She’d only handed him a sliver of respect, and he didn’t think she would be any better at comfort than Princess. Worse, probably, as he imagined her telling him to screw off and suck it up. He felt worse than ever now with that imaginary conversation playing its way through his head.

And yet he slunk around the clearing anyways. Redtail was mourning, Greypaw was with his family, and even Ravenpaw was sitting shockingly close to Fuzzypelt, and all he wanted was to not be alone.

Fortunately, as he crouched down beside her, she didn’t say a word.

Bluestar and Tigerclaw spoke quietly, but now she leapt up the tumble of rocks to address the clan: “You all know by now that Shadowclan attacked Windclan, and as a show of solidarity Thunderclan sent warriors to help. However, in the chaos, a Shadowclan warrior took Spottedleaf’s life.”

It was as if a dam had been cut loose.

“But that’s against the Code!” someone wailed.

“What are we going to do without a healer?!” cried another.

“We can’t let this go unanswered!”

Shockingly, those yells all quieted at a mere raise of Bluestar’s tail. “I understand your concerns,” she said emphatically. “And I promise you that Shadowclan will not get away with this. In the meantime, the clan must be fed. Lionheart, if you could organize patrols. Tigerclaw, come speak to me.”

“Wait!” Willowpelt suddenly piped up. Tears streamed through her fur. “If we don’t have a healer, how can we send Spottedleaf to Starclan?! You can’t leave her wandering!”

“We will find a way,” Bluestar promised. “I will send someone to find lavender while she waits, so she can at least be at peace.”

“I’ll do it,” Brindleface said, pressing her head to Willowpelt’s shoulder. “I’ll find the best sprigs for her, I promise.”

Willowpelt buried her muzzle into her fur in turn. “Thank you,” she whispered.

“I won’t leave you without a healer,” Bluestar emphasized. “Let me worry about this, and let yourselves worry about the clan. Dismissed.”

She leapt down and met Tigerclaw while Lionheart began organizing the clan. Firepaw couldn’t take his eyes off of Spottedleaf, and her faithful siblings hovered over her.

“It’s hard seeing your mentor mourn,” Yellowfang commented.

“Should I…say something?”

“No. Let him be. He needs family right now, I’m afraid.” Firepaw’s ears drooped, but he started when Yellowfang flicked her tail across his flank. “Death happens, ‘paw. Seasons come and go. Starclan takes us all one day and you can fight like a bitch fights for her pups and it still won’t matter—it binds us all in the end.”

“But…” He sighed. “I feel like there’s something in my stomach and it’s weighing me down…” He shook his head. “That doesn’t make sense.”

“Still that young,” she muttered. “Sometimes an emotion is so strong that you can feel it in your gut. You think they call it heartbreak for no reason?”

“Oh.”

“But it sounds like you’re guilty.”

“I guess I am.”

“Feel like you should have helped her?”

He shook his head. “I don’t think I could have,” he admitted. “But I…” He hesitated over his next words, but Yellowfang already knew he could speak to the stone guardians. “I don’t think Spottedleaf told anyone what she saw in Starclan, so I spoke to the stone guardians and I told them something I don’t think I should have.”

Her tail, which had been ghosting back and forth on his fur, stilled. “Ah. So they’ve turned you into a little gossip, have they?”

“I don’t know why I said it,” he said plaintively. “I don’t even think it’s true.”

“You must have. They know when—”

“When I’m lying, I know, and that’s worse!” He wrapped a paw over his eyes. “I shouldn’t have said anything. What if they tell someone else?”

“They won’t know you said it.”

“But still…”

She chuckled softly. “There’s a good heart in you, Firepaw. So what did they tell you in exchange for that information?”

“That Brokenstar killed the kittens. And that you saw it.”

She huffed through her nose. “Yup.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Brokenstar has Starclan on his side,” she said. “And he’s proved it to his clan, too. Had Blackfoot kill him in front of the clan—”

He bristled. _“WHAT?!_ How can—how does— _he can come back to life?!”_

She grimaced. “Do you not know that leaders have nine lives? Where the fuck have you been living? Under a damn rock? Does Redtail not teach you anything?”

He could only manage to gape at her. Nine lives? “As in they die and—and come back? _Nine times_?”

“Yes.” She sniffed. “Moving on—”

“ _So Starclan’s really real?”_

She slapped a paw over her eyes. “Yes, Firepaw, Starclan is real.”

“I just, I thought, I thought… I don’t know! I mean, I sort of saw them at the Moonstone but I wasn’t sure if it was just something else or this has all been my imagination, I thought—” He shook, a wretched tremble working its way from his tail tip all the way to his nose. “I guess I knew they were real, Yellowfang, but I didn’t know they could do something like _that._ I just thought it was like… _”_

“That it was like any other faith,” she finished. “Outsiders make that mistake a lot, but there are gods in this world and Starclan is among the few that can make an impression on it. _Moving on,_ ” she said again, and with emphasis, “Brokenstar proved his divine right by allowing Blackfoot to kill him in front of the rest of the clan, and bit Cloudpelt’s paw hard enough to force him to take his side. As far as the clan is concerned, I’m lying—especially because they know that I hate the damn brat.”

“But…why would Starclan give him lives if they knew he didn’t deserve them?”

Yellowfang didn’t reply. In the end, she shook her head. “I don’t know. But he’s wreaked enough fucking havoc that the clans won’t care how fucking divine he is now.”

“So tell Bluestar!”

She blinked once. “I think she’ll like it more coming from you.”

“Huh?”

“The will of Starclan,” she said. “Tell her Spottedleaf told you what you know.”

“But—”

“Oh don’t go complaining,” she snapped. “You spoke to the stone guardians, might as well not let that sacrifice go in vain.”

She said it with no room to complain. He nodded, and together they watched clan life slowly but surely move on. Lionheart hadn’t come to speak to him about hunting, but he hadn’t spoken to Ravenpaw or Greypaw either. He almost wondered why, until he realized his paws were aching and his claws felt like they’d been torn out. His body felt like he’d walked halfway across the world and back. He couldn’t imagine ever walking that far again.

As much as he wanted to go curl up in his nest and sleep, though, he knew Yellowfang would want him to stay awake and talk to Bluestar.

He perked up when Tigerclaw left Bluestar’s den, followed by Bluestar herself. “And you’re certain you have no idea?” she whispered.

“She said it was for your ears only,” he replied. “I’m sorry.”

She nodded and let him walk away. Firepaw hesitantly walked over. Even though she was staring in his general direction, she didn’t seem to notice him as he approached. Not until he said her name.

“Yes, Firepaw?” she said coolly.

He shuffled his paws. “Spottedleaf told me something.”

Her gaze turned intense. “She did? Tigerclaw told me that her words were only for me.”

He swallowed hard. “She told me—I don’t know why, but she told me she…”

He didn’t want to lie. He didn’t want to lie. He didn’t want to lie, but was there any other way?

“She told me she couldn’t trust Tigerclaw,” he said, “and that’s why she didn’t tell him but she wanted someone to know what she saw, in case something happened.”

Bluestar stilled. Something flashed across her eyes, something as unknowable as what had crossed Yellowfang’s eyes earlier. He didn’t like it. But whatever he’d triggered seemed to have an impact on Bluestar.

“What did she say?” she demanded. “About Tigerclaw?”

About Tigerclaw? “J-Just that?” he said, leaning away.

“Just that? That she couldn’t trust him?”

“I don’t know,” he insisted. “But I…I heard them arguing about something,” he confessed. “That’s it, though.”

She stared off to the side, eyes glazed as she was transported somewhere else entirely. “She didn’t trust him…”

“Bluestar?” She blinked, looking back at him quizzically. “Do you want to know what she told me?”

“…Yes, tell me.”

But why was Tigerclaw more important than that? He bit down on the question to tell her: “Brokenstar killed the kittens,” he said. “That’s what they said. A-and that he’s a danger to the clans—all of them.”

Her reply was a long time coming, but her eyes continued to bore a hole through him, tail swishing behind her. “I see.”

“So…so what do we do?” he pressed. “Should we attack Shadowclan?”

She shook her head. “No. Our numbers are much too few for that and now that we’ve lost our healer…”

She sighed through her nose, letting her eyes drift to Spottedleaf. Firepaw followed her gaze, where Brindleface helped Willowpelt tuck the lavender around her body, but quickly looked away.

“I did want to speak with you though,” she continued. “Yellowfang and I talked, and she gave me her story about the fight. She told that she told you to eat the rabbit, and while that doesn’t completely forgive what you did, it does explain it.”

“O-Oh.” He shuffled his paws, looking at her expectantly in hopes that his punishment would be ending.

“I see that look in your eye,” she said. “With Redtail mourning, I don’t believe you’ll be training tomorrow. I do have a task for you, though.”

He brightened up. “What is it?”

“I want you to take Yellowfang around the territory. Bring her wherever she pleases…” Her eyes flicked to the raggedy old Shadow, and more quietly she added, “And if you think can, learn as much about the state of Shadowclan as you can.”

His heart dropped. She wanted him to lie _more_? And to Yellowfang, no less? Not even getting to get out and about and possibly go hunting could make up for that. But Bluestar was his leader, and he nodded dutifully.

She nodded back. “I’ve noticed she’s fond of you,” she said. “I don’t see you having too much trouble, and it could give us an edge. Do keep her away from the clan borders, though. I don’t want Shadowclan or Riverclan knowing about her presence in our clan just yet.”

“Alright, Bluestar.”

“Good. Gather Greypaw and Ravenpaw and get some sleep. You had a long journey and a hard fight—and I’m proud of you for doing so well,” she said, a glimmer of warmth entering her eyes. “The three of you will make warriors that will carry Thunderclan forward to a better future.”

The whiplash of receiving such a nice compliment after being giving such a gutwrenching task left him dizzy. He walked away with a stumbled, pleased that Bluestar thought he could be a warrior.

As he curled up in his nest with Ravenpaw and Greypaw, though, all the bad of that day gathered like clouds to block out the compliment, and he went to sleep miserable.


	22. Chapter 19

Yellowfang didn’t say it, but Firepaw knew she was pleased to be let out of the camp. Her leg seemed to give her a bit of trouble, but she nonetheless kept up with him, tail high in the air as they strolled through the woods.

She stopped at some point and hunkered down. He froze too, smelling the rabbit upwind of them. It was huge, too—much bigger than the kitten sized bunnies that he normally saw and more like the full fledged hares that he’d seen on Windclan territory once or twice.

In one swift movement, Yellowfang moved through the shadows and sprang on the unsuspecting animal, killing it before it could even scream.

“Thunderclan’s lucky,” she commented once she’d muttered a quick prayer. “You’ve got prey coming out your damn ears.”

“Is it not like that in Shadowclan?” he said in surprise.

“Mm.” Motioning for him to grab the rabbit, she kept walking. Her tail didn’t twitch, and without ears it was hard to tell what mood he’d put her in. “No. We have prey, but it’s not like your forest prey. Harder to get, too. I walk three steps here and nearly trip over a squirrel.”

“No wonder Brokenstar wants more territory.” He managed around a mouthful of fur.

“Brokenstar wants territory because territory is power,” she retorted. “And that kit hasn’t ever done anything in his life that doesn’t make him feel like he owns the fucking world.”

“Oh. Huh.”

They walked in silence. Firepaw supposed that was one thing he could tell Bluestar. He despised how easy it was, though, asking Yellowfang questions and her answering, even though she didn’t have to be telling him about Shadowclan life. She trusted him. He was devastated that Bluestar wanted to take advantage of that trust.

“Oh, Bluestar doesn’t want us going near the border,” he said when Yellowfang took a pointed turn towards the road.

“Bluestar can crunch some bones,” she retorted.

“But—”

“I’m a Shadow cat,” she snapped. “You think I don’t know how to be subtle?”

Acutely aware of what a bad idea this was, he let her lead him towards the road. As usual in the night, it was quiet as a doe. Yellowfang walked along it, her paws not making a sound and her murky grey pelt blending into the darkness. In comparison, he felt like his bright orange fur was a beacon demanding the attention of every Shadow across the border.

She stopped when the ground beside the road dipped, tail tip twitching and mouth parted to taste the air. He fidgeted nervously beside her.

“Where are we going?” he finally asked.

“Follow me and be quiet,” she said. “And I hope you’re as good at keeping secrets as you are at wringing them out of people.”

“H-Huh?”

She dove down the dip in the ground and disappeared into a clump of ferns and bushes. In a panic he raced after her, pushing through the vegetation until his paws met water and an old stream bed. Before him loomed a tunnel, one that he hadn’t even known was there. At the end, orange eyes gleaming in the dark, waited Yellowfang.

He hurried after her, not letting himself think about the fact that he was crossing the border into Shadowclan territory.

“Yellowfang, what the fuck?” he hissed.

“Oh, looks like you do have bite,” she purred. “This way.”

She led him again along the road, and then over a scentline leading outside of Shadowclan territory and towards the Town. He felt nervous for a different reason, remembering Princess’s warnings that this part of the Town was where the nastiest cats spent their time.

“Where are we going?” he asked again.

“You’ll see, ‘paw,” she replied.

She turned into an alleyway and led him deeper into the Town. He felt even more nervous—the bloodscent of the rabbit was sure to attract attention, too.

Finally, she turned a corner into an abandoned and overgrown garden, so well forgotten that the fence had deteriorated, leaving holes big enough for an entire moose to walk through. Firepaw’s fur spiked at the smell of cats, barely perceptible around the smell of the rabbit. Nonetheless, he followed Yellowfang into the human-made tangle of growth, through strong smelling flowers and hedges left to their own devices and grass that towered a full meter above their heads.

They rounded a bush and came face to face with a ragged, bristling tom. He was old—his black fur flecked with white and ruffled and clumped in a way that only a very old cat’s might be. His yellow eyes sparked with warrior heat, though, something that age simply couldn’t steal from him.

The moment he took in Yellowfang, though, his fur flattened and he settled back on his skinny haunches with a huff. Firepaw noticed right after that his ears were stubs. This was a Shadowclan cat.

In pure shock, he dropped the rabbit, but couldn’t get out a word as the tom said: “Yellowfang, I damn well thought you were dead.”

“Just about,” she replied. “Found myself in the Thunders’ territory, though, and lo and behold I’d gone and forgotten that I’ve got fucking immunity. Here,” she hooked a claw into the rabbit’s ear and pushed it towards him, “they’ve got more prey than they know what to do with. They won’t miss it.”

He pulled it closer, shoulders hunched. “Thank you. Now that it’s just me and Newtspeck…”

At that, a torbie molly poked her head out, her surprised mew interrupting Yellowfang’s question: “Yellowfang! We thought you were dead!”

“Nearly,” she said shortly. “What do you mean it’s just the two of you, Nightpelt?”

“I’m sorry,” Nightpelt said. “The others passed away. We just couldn’t get enough food, and Brightflower—you know your mother, Yellowfang, she insisted that she eat last, and when she went your father couldn’t bear it without her…”

“And Lightcloud was never well. She was gone an hour after you left last time,” Newtspeck said. “And Cinderfur’s cough just got worse and worse until he passed in his sleep.” With a miserable half-laugh, she added, “And I’m next. I can feel the fluid building up in my lungs…”

“Dammit,” Yellowfang muttered, yet didn’t seem surprised, or even that mournful. “Alright. Show me the bodies. I’ll send them to Starclan and get you some doe’s foot—‘paw, why don’t you find something to warm Lightcloud’s nest? It’ll help her cough.”

“Who is this anyways?” Nightpelt said, and again Firepaw couldn’t find a spot to start demanding answers. “I don’t recognize him, but he smells like a Thunder.”

“An outsider that they took in,” she said. “Gave me this nasty scar on my leg. Name’s Firepaw.”

“Firepaw,” Newtspeck said, testing the name on her tongue, “fitting, if you gave Yellowfang a run for it.”

“I-I—I have no idea what’s going on!” he finally blurted out. “Why are you here? Why aren’t you with Shadowclan? What happened?”

Nightpelt looked at Yellowfang, who shrugged. “We’re Shadowclan’s elders,” he answered. “Too much a burden for Brokenstar to risk us taking precious prey away from him and his inner circle.”

“Call them what they are,” Newtspeck growled. “They’re damn bodyguards.”

Firepaw stared in horror. “That’s…”

“Despicable?” Nightpelt finished. “Agreed. And it isn’t easy out here in the Town. Didn’t realize how much the cats here had organized since my days hunting here—damn near impossible to get anywhere without risking getting caught by their patrols.”

“Town cats patrolling,” Newtspeck said with a shake of her head. “Never thought I’d see the damn day.”

“That’s enough gossip,” Yellowfang cut in. “Let me see the bodies. Firepaw, get something for Newt’s nest.”

“Be careful,” Nightpelt said. “I saw the Town cats nearly tear apart a cat your age just the other night.”

With that warning looming menacingly over his head, he slunk away to go find something for Newtspeck’s nest.

He hadn’t expected to feel so ill at ease in the Town. Princess had taken him places within, touring him around where it was safe and teaching him which gardens to avoid. But they’d never gone this far, and that had been so long ago. He knew the forest far better. In fact, as he left the cover of the overgrown yard, he instantly felt exposed beneath the night sky.

Avoiding pools of light cast from windows and arching metal poles, he tried to head more towards the forest. He couldn’t get her moss—it would be too damp—but along the roads he hoped to find a dead bird like he’d seen on the Shadowclan border from time to time. If not that, he could knew he could climb a tree quietly enough to snatch a bird out of its nest. That way, he could bring back prey _and_ feathers.

As the smells of the forest hit him and spark an excitement deep in his gut, he got careless. He quickened his pace and rushed around a corner, nearly colliding with a groups of cats huddled around something.

He reversed quickly, but the biggest, a massive ginger tom or molly (he couldn’t seem to tell by scent) rose to their feet. “Ey now, kitten, hold up.”

He shouldn’t obey, but he did, ears flattened at the cat approached, flanked by a few black and white toms who bared their teeth threateningly.

“You look too well fed for a stray,” they said. “Not well fed enough for a house cat, though.”

Firepaw could only flatten himself to the ground as the cat gave him a cursory sniff. All these cats were huge—not as big as Tigerclaw or even Greypaw, but big enough that a swat from one of those hefty paws could mess him up.

“ _Oh_ , a _forest_ cat,” they purred. “Are you with those ‘clans’ or whatever they call themselves, or are you alone?”

“Can’t be alone, Brick,” said one of the toms. “No way someone that young keeps himself that healthy by himself.”

“Really?” Brick sneered. “Because if I recall, our _leader_ was a crafty damn thing.”

“Brick!” All the cats turned when another tom, even bigger than Brick, strolled up from behind Firepaw. For his part, Firepaw didn’t move, and the newcomer didn’t as much as glance in his direction as he came nose to nose with Brick. “Scourge wants to see you.”

“Now?” they said disbelievingly. “Fine. Boys, take care of the whelp—”

“What, the fucking kitten?” the newcomer growled. “Leave it.”

Brick began to growl, whipping their tail back and forth so fiercely that Firepaw was terrified that a fight might break out and he’d get in the middle of it. Before Brick could say another word, though, a distant howl pierced the air. The newcomer didn’t as much as flinch. Brick and their crew, however, now bristled for a different reason.

“Don’t keep Scourge waiting,” said the newcomer.

Brick stalked past, flicking his shoulder irritably. Their gang reluctantly followed, until it was only Firepaw and the newcomer left in the alley.

“Th-Thanks—” But the newcomer was already walking away.

He only paused a moment, his wicked blue eyes cutting straight through Firepaw. “Don’t come back into this town,” he said. “And take your friends with you, if you don’t want to see them all dead by the ‘morrow.”

He sprang into the nearest alley, swallowed by blackness that maybe only a Shadow’s eyes could pierce. Firepaw stared after him, fur still stood on end. He was about to tear his eyes away when he caught something glinting in the darkness. A pair of eyes, as cold as ice and sharp as flint. He swallowed hard and slunk away.

As he reached the abandoned garden, he realized that he hadn’t gotten Newtspeck anything for her nest. So shaken was he from the encounter, he didn’t think he could go back.

Maybe it didn’t matter. The tom’s warning rattled around in his brain, and he knew from that hard look in his eyes that he meant every word of his promise to kill the Shadowclan elders if they stayed even another night longer.

Yellowfang met him near the opening with an irritated glare. “I didn’t tell you to come back empty pawed,” she growled.

Something in his expression must have tipped her off because her frustration took a dive into surprise and…concern. Huh, he’d never really expected Yellowfang to be _concerned_ for him.

“I-I—” He couldn’t form words quite yet. Yellowfang said nothing, but her tail tip brushed his flank as he shakily sat himself down in front of her. “I’m sorry. I met some, some cat—”

A growl started up deep in her throat, and he quickly added, “They didn’t hurt me! They—They almost hurt me,” he amended. “It doesn’t matter. They know Newtspeck and Nightpelt are here and they said that if they don’t leave by tomorrow…”

Yellowfang exhaled sharply through her nose.

“I have an idea,” he offered. “Bluestar wouldn’t—they’re elders. Bluestar wouldn’t say no if—”

“I’m going to stop you right there, ‘paw,” she said. “You’re on thin ice, I’m on thin ice, and adding two bodies is going to put us right under.”

He hesitated. “Can I tell you something?”

“Generally that’s what a conversation involves,” she retorted.

“I’m trying to help!”

“Then fine,” she snapped. “Tell me something, ‘paw.”

“Bluestar wanted me to use you to find out more about Shadowclan,” he confessed. “ _Maybe_ , if you promise her that you’ll tell her what she wants to know, she’ll let them stay in Thudnerclan?”

“So you want me to betray my birth clan?” she hissed.

“You don’t care!” he exclaimed. “You don’t like Brokenstar anymore than we do, and that’s who we want to get rid of too!”

She glared at him in steady silence, and he knew, just _knew_ , that if she had any damn ears that they’d be flattened right to her head to emphasize that glare.

He was more concerned with if he’d said the right things, or insulted her beyond repair. Or if she decided not to come back to Thunderclan at all—he could have at least held her down and yelled for help back in their territory, but he was on his own now. And if he came back empty pawed, he had a feeling his punishment would be a little worse than just a bit of kit-sitting for an old hag.

It made him question why he kept doing this at all. This was the second time he’d broken the rules, he’d lost count of the times he’d _considered_ breaking the rules, and there were definitely times that felt like that little grey area where he _might_ be breaking a rule, but no one would ever know and neither would he.

Maybe the clan was right. Maybe he wasn’t cut out for this. If they kicked him out, would he have any right to argue? He couldn’t even follow their most basic laws.

But this felt right. Helping Yellowfang, helping Nightpelt and Newtspeck. Redtail had told him over and over and over that he needed to respect his elders. They were the backbone upon which a clan was built. And maybe the Shadows weren’t technically his elders, but it wasn’t like the _Thunderclan_ elders were either.

Yellowfang’s eyes remained narrow and unhappy all the while those thoughts ran wild in his head, but at once she relaxed. She swished her tail across the pavement, and then back to brush his flank.

“Sorry, ‘paw, but I won’t be telling Bluestar much about Shadowclan,” she said slowly, “but as I recall, you’re in dire need of healer.”

At that, he perked up. Why hadn’t he thought of that? “You’d do that for Thunderclan?”

“I’m not doing it for them,” she grumbled, getting up and walking back to her clanmates. “Nightpelt! Newtspeck! New plan!”

“What? We’re just getting comfortable again,” Nightpelt said.

“Shush,” Newtspeck said, planting a paw on his cheek and pushing him aside. “What’s the plan, and does it involve getting out of this shithole?”

Yellowfang chuckled. “It does, actually. We’re going to Thunderclan.”


	23. Chapter 20

His second time walking into camp with a cat from Shadowclan didn’t feel any better than the first time, especially now that he had _two_ of them. Yellowfang was all confidence, though, strolling in like nothing was wrong, her tail high in the air. The clan’s glares rolled off of her like water on a duck’s back. The clan’s glares did _not_ roll off him the same way, though.

Tigerclaw met them. “What is going on?”

“I’m going to strike a deal with Bluestar,” Yellowfang said coolly, sitting down and wrapping her tail neatly around her paws. “Be a good warrior and send someone to find her.”

Firepaw almost thought that Tigerclaw would tear her apart right then and there, looming over her the way he was. He stepped away when a shape emerged from the healer’s den.

“Firepaw, what’s going on?” Redtail said. “Why…” He sighed, running his eyes across Newtspeck and Nightpelt. “Why do you keep bringing Shadowclan cats into our camp?”

“Redtail, come here,” Yellowfang said. “I need a little more authority than a tom passed over for deputyship.”

Tigerclaw hissed quietly at that and walked away, heading to Sandstorm to ask her to go find Bluestar.

Meanwhile, Redtail strode up. He looked better, but his fur was noticeably rumpled, as if he hadn’t bothered to groom himself that day. It didn’t stop him from having an air of authority around him, though.

“Let’s hear it,” he prompted.

Yellowfang spun an expert half-truth. She said that they’d come close to the border—not close enough to violate Bluestar’s orders of course—and smelled Shadowclan invaders. She’d recognized the scents as elders and deemed them not a threat, and so convinced Firepaw to bring them back after a sob story from the pair (her words) about Brokenstar kicking them out of the camp and losing several other of their denmates to cold and starvation.

“And I know that you’ll be resistant,” she said, drawing her story to a close, “so I’ll offer my temporary service to your clan in exchange for their shelter.” She glanced past him pointedly at the healer’s den. As if on cue, Robinwing started hacking up a storm. “You’re in need of it, after all.”

Redtail grimaced, tail twitching with irritation. His eyes briefly flicked over to Firepaw, who couldn’t help an ear twisting backwards, before he sighed through his nose.

“We’ll see,” he said shortly. “We’ll get them some food and they can wait by your nest.”

Yellowfang’s only acknowledgement was a wave of her tail as she led her clanmates over to the elder’s den. Redtail looked at Firepaw again.

“How much of this was _really_ your idea?” he asked.

Firepaw shuffled his paws. “It wasn’t my idea that she offer to be healer in exchange,” was all he said.

“We’ll talk about this tomorrow night, when I take you out. Get them some food while we wait for Bluestar.”

Firepaw did as told, then went to sit outside the apprentices’ den. Everyone was out with their mentors, so he had to wait alone. Or so he thought.

“You’ve got nerve, bringing more outsiders into the clan.”

He blinked up in confusion at Darkstripe, of all cats. He’d never seen him speak to anyone other than Tigerclaw, Lizardtail, or Dustpelt, must less spoken to him himself. His ears twisted back nervously as Darkstripe’s vivid eyes dug deeper and deeper into him, as if they could hook in and draw out a response if he refused to give one.

So he gave one willingly, instead: “It wasn’t me this time,” he said, going along with Yellowfang’s lie, “I don’t think all of Starclan could have stopped Yellowfang from bringing Newtspeck and Nightpelt here.”

“You’re the one who brought her in the first place. Outsider begets more fucking outsider, it looks like.”

Now his ears flattened. “You can’t have it both ways!” he exclaimed. “You can’t tell me that bringing in outsiders is good for the clan and it’s bloodline, then shame anyone who joins!”

“It’s different when it’s cats from other fucking clans,” he snarled. “It’s different when it’s a fucking _kittypet_.”

Observing Darkstripe’s small ears and stumpy build, his unique pelt and how the rosettes there formed an ombre of near black to pale gold, he said something he very much should not have: “That’s rich, coming from someone who looks like his mom fucked a house cat and got the shittier traits of both.”

A growl started loud and vicious in Darkstripe’s throat, only for a paw to land on his shoulder, thankfully preventing a potentially physical fight from breaking out. Firepaw looked down to study the ground between his paws when Tigerclaw gave him a pointed look.

“Darkstripe, we’ll need more food, so Redtail wants you to hunt,” he said. “Take Dustpelt and Brindleface.”

Darkstripe slunk off. Once he was out of earshot, Tigerclaw said: “You should think twice before speaking to my brother like that. Especially about that matter. I have enough to do to keep him out of trouble.”

“Brother?” Firepaw sputtered in surprise. They looked nothing alike.

“Half-brother,” Tigerclaw relented. “The _point_ …”

“No, I understand, sir. I just, I got too heated,” he said. “I’m sorry. I won’t do it again.”

“Thank you,” he said. “Firepaw—I know it’s hard to be an outsider. I will talk to Darkstripe about his comments. Is that a fair deal?”

He relaxed a touch. “You’d do that?”

“You’re right to point out our hypocrisy,” he said. “All the clans need new blood from time to time to thrive. I want to ask you something, though.”

“Oh…okay?”

Tigerclaw looked at him intensely. “Bluestar mentioned that Spottedleaf told you about her meeting with Starclan,” he said. “And that Brokenstar was killing his clan’s own kits. Is that all she told you about what she saw?”

“I…yeah,” he said. “She said that was the most important part of it, at least.”

Tigerclaw sighed. “But it doesn’t tell us _how_ …” he grumbled, casting his gaze off to the side.

“Does…that usually happen?” he ventured. “Does Starclan usually tell you how to solve a problem?”

His ear twitched. “No,” he admitted. “Starclan is a guiding force, not a…solving one. They illuminate problems or goals, but it’s up to the living to figure out solutions or plans, and it’s up to healers to see those hints in the first place.”

“So they’re not, I guess, all knowing?”

“Maybe. Maybe not. I’m not a healer.”

He turned away, about to leave, but Firepaw hastily called him back. “Tigerclaw, do _you_ think it’s a bad idea to have the Shadowclan elders in the clan? I mean, they’re still _elders_ and they would have died otherwise and Redtail always says to respect my elders and…”

“I think you’ll receive unnecessary fallout,” he replied, “but…it was the right thing to do, in the end.”

And then he walked away, and Firepaw felt just a little bit better.

*~*~*~*

Bluestar didn’t seem happy. At least at first. The moment Yellowfang agreed to be the clan’s temporary healer, the old molly looked like she’d been given a rabbit in exchange for a mouse. She’d welcomed the elders into the clan about as eagerly as Bluestar did, well, anything, then took Yellowfang to set her up in Spottedleaf’s old den and discuss the finer details of the trade.

The clan didn’t seem as angry with him this time. Yellowfang had spun the entire situation so that the elders’ presence was on her shoulders instead of his, for which he was relieved.

Next night, Redtail took him out, like promised. Apparently he was completely done his punishment, even though he hadn’t gotten the information that Bluestar wanted. When he asked Redtail about it, he told him that he’d gotten her something much better, and that was good enough for her.

“I wish she hadn’t asked me to do that,” he admitted as they walked along the Riverclan border. “I didn’t want to lie to Yellowfang.”

Redtail’s whisker twitched with amusement. “You’ve taken a shine to her.”

“Even though she’s a cranky old...”

“Careful. You’ve seen Whitestorm smack Lionheart, and I’m more than willing to do the same.”

Firepaw snorted. “Honestly I think she’d agree with me.”

“I don’t doubt that. Tell me what really happened, though.” Firepaw shot him a worried look, and he added, “It won’t get back to Bluestar, I just want to know what you got yourself into.”

With a sigh, he relented and told Redtail the full story. He wished the entire time that he didn’t have to, that the lie could be forgotten and the entire clan could accept Yellowfang’s skewed version of the events. He didn’t want them knowing that he was being a rulebreaker _again_.

“Am I doing this right?” he said at the end of his story. “Do you really think I should be here?”

“Of course I do,” Redtail said. “And anyways, you’re my favourite apprentice.”

That made him laugh. “So you’re not mad?”

“No. You’re just trying to do the right thing…but maybe you’re letting yourself get pushed around by Yellowfang just a little too much.”

“It’s not that she pushes me around. I just think she wants to do the right thing too, is all.”

“I think so too.”

Firepaw stopped dead, though, when he glanced down at the ground and saw a blue leaf. All the fur on his spine began to spike up as he looked and saw the oddly coloured tree towering above them, awash with leaves in all shades of river blue. Fitting, as it hung half over the waters, shading the steppingstones below.

“Hey, Redtail?” he called, pulling him to a stop. “Can you tell me what the soul trees are for?”

He’d been dying to ask about them, but he’d always balked in the past. Scared that somehow it would give a deeper meaner to his initial dream with the no furred cat. But after a second dream with a similar tree at the Moonstone, it had begun to feel more necessary that he know.

Redtail doubled back to come sit beside him. “That’s right, I forgot you don’t know these stories.”

Firepaw walked forward, placing a paw on one of the roots. Something about it sent a jolt of tingling numbness up his leg, and he snapped it back with a surprised gasp.

“It _is_ a soul tree, right?” he asked.

“Yes. When a warrior who committed a heinous crime dies—by execution or any manner—a healer will plant a soul tree seed above their body once they’ve been buried. It grows very quickly afterwards and traps the warrior’s soul so its spirit won’t haunt us.”

Firepaw stared at the tree. But it was so beautiful—how could it be used for something so horrible?

“I guess that means their soul doesn’t go to Starclan?” he asked.

“No. Trapped or not, I don’t think such terrible souls would be allowed Starclan,” Redtail said. “Our ancestors simply wouldn’t allow it.”

Firepaw winced. “Your mean your ancestors.”

Redtail blinked fondly at him. “No, I mean our ancestors. You’re a member of the clan now. My ancestors are your ancestors—and I think Spottedleaf would have personally agreed.” Beneath his breath, he added, “It’d be the only thing we ever agreed on, I’m afraid.”

Unconvinced but equally unwilling to spit in the face of Redtail’s acceptance, Firepaw turned his eyes up to the highest branches. “Is that all they’re used for, then? To trap bad souls?”

“Mmhm. Some stories say that the larger the tree, the worse the crimes.”

He almost told Redtail that he’d seen a tree like this in his dream. Almost. He bit down on that urge at the last second, not wanting to worry him like that. He didn’t like the implications of seeing a soul tree so massive in his dream, and a hairless cat telling him that the world was about to be upheaved.

“Who was buried here?” he asked instead.

“It’s best not to dwell on the names of the wicked, ‘paw.”

“But it’s not that big…”

Redtail shifted his weight awkwardly, and at that Firepaw knew that whoever was buried here, Redtail knew all about them.

“He was Whitestorm’s father,” he finally said. “A real hothead, but a good warrior. His mate was killed by Riverclan, though, and he never forgave them, constantly tried to go to war with them.”

“Is that why he was buried here?”

“He was buried here because Bluestar requested it,” he said, “and my sister obliged.”

Redtail didn’t sound like he agreed with that decision. He also didn’t think he would get that story out of him. But maybe the elders would tell him.

“What happens if you plant a soul tree over a good cat?”

“It’s such a severe punishment that it rarely happens, but when it does…well, you’ve doomed a good and undeserving cat, I’d say. It’s only done with absolute confidence in the cat’s crimes. I doubt it’s ever been done by mistake.”

He didn’t say anything about it being done on purpose, though.

“Why don’t I show you an even bigger tree?” Redtail offered. “The biggest in the territory?”

“Oh, yes please!”

“Then talk and move, ‘paw, let’s get _something_ done today. You have catching up to do, after all.”

“Will you tell me a story about the next one?”

“Yes, if you hurry!”

“I’m coming!” he hollered, sprinting after Redtail. Finally, a little bit of normalcy.


	24. Chapter 21

Maybe a little bit too normal, actually.

Another couple months drifted by. Yellowfang, Newtspeck, and Nightpelt’s presence in the camp went unannounced at the Gatherings, and so did Thunderclan’s lack of a permanent healer. Though Brokenstar was called out for attacking Windclan at the next Gathering, he denied that it was for territory and claimed that Windclan had been stealing prey. No one believed him.

He also fervently denied any involvement in Spottedleaf’s death, insisting that his warriors would have told him if something like that had occurred. The other clans obviously didn’t believe him on that either. Firepaw was appalled to find that he did.

But he chose to ignore the implications of that. That it might have actually been Tigerclaw who had killed Spottedleaf. Tigerclaw was so painfully… _normal_ anyways. He patrolled, he occasionally helped with training sessions, and he spent a lot of time with the cats in the clan who he knew best. What was suspicious about that? And besides a little argument, an argument not unlike the arguments he frequently had with Redtail, there was just no proof.

So he threw himself into training, easily catching up with Ravenpaw and Greypaw once more. Soon, Redtail had them helping out with Cinderpaw and Swiftpaw’s apprenticeships.

And when it came to helping out, Ravenpaw was amazing. Amazing even to the point that when he was around, Cinderpaw and Swiftpaw would run to him with questions first before their respective mentors. At first it threw Ravenpaw off, but he soon became accustomed to their questions, and became confident answering them. Firepaw’s chest swelled with pride for his friend. One day, he would make a great mentor.

And there was more good news. Frostfur’s kittens had been born and she’d had a large litter of three toms and one molly, much to Bluestar’s glee. They’d come out of the nursery for the first time just last week, right after Firepaw, Ravenpaw, and Greypaw had returned from training.

“The kittens are out!” Greypaw squealed. “Let’s visit!”

“Hold up,” Lionheart said. He caught Greypaw around the neck to drag him back, but even he had trouble wrangling Greypaw’s excitement these days. “Let me ask Frosty if she’s okay with the kittens seeing you.”

“Aw.” But Greypaw hung back with them while Lionheart walked forward, greeting Frostfur with a head bump then whispering hellos to his sons and daughter. After a moment, he motioned the three of them forward.

Firepaw approached more warily than Greypaw or Ravenpaw. He’d never seen kittens this young, not since his own brothers and sisters. They squealed and squirmed across the grass towards them, only just able to totter around on four paws. So young that their eyes were blue and bleary, they tumbled gracelessly into Greypaw’s fur while he cooed lovingly at them.

He supposed Greypaw would make a good father one day. As good a father, probably, as Ravenpaw would make a mentor. It made him wonder where he fit in. What was he good at? Besides asking questions, of course.

Sitting away so he wasn’t the focus of the kitten’s attention, he asked: “So what have you named them?”

Frostfur gave him an odd look, while Lionheart chuckled. “They won’t get their names until another week or so, ‘paw.”

“What? Why?”

“Kittens die,” Frostfur said flatly while Lionheart searched for a softer answer. “Especially in their first two moons. “It’s better not to get attached and give out names until you know for sure they’re worth naming at all.”

“I wouldn’t put it quite like that,” Lionheart said. “See, if you name a kitten too early and it dies, Starclan will take it into their paws and they won’t ever have a chance to grow up. If you don’t name them until you’re sure they will survive to apprenticeship, then Starclan can still recycle the soul, send it back to try again.”

“Oh. That’s nice, actually.”

“It is.”

“They’ll survive, though,” Frostfur said with a shocking amount of confidence. “Fuckers nearly a kicked a hole through my gut getting out—it’ll take a whole lot more than a cough or some cold to kill this lot.”

Lionheart’s tail curled with glee. “Yes, you’re right,” he purred. “And I look forward to seeing them all grow into warriors the clan can be proud of.”

Firepaw curled his tail over his paws, watching the kittens explore the new place. The longer he stayed, the more it seemed like Thunderclan had the answers to everything. They knew a lot more about the world than he ever did. Maybe even more about it than Princess did, and Princess had walked every walk in the town thrice over. She didn’t know about Starclan. She didn’t know about the little magics in the world.

Or maybe she simply hadn’t told him. He wondered more and more what Princess knew these days. He hadn’t gone to see her in a while, though.

At that he made a decision. Bidding the others farewell, he trotted over to Redtail. He was seated in the shade near the edge of the clearing, with a glassy and faraway look in his eyes that told Firepaw that he was thinking about Spottedleaf again.

“Redtail?” he said, almost afraid to disturb him at all.

But Redtail blinked out of his trance and looked at him like he hadn’t been elsewhere at all. “What can I do for you, Firepaw?”

“I, uh,” he looked around, making sure no one was listening, “I was wondering if I could see Princess, actually. I’ll hunt while I’m there, and ask Yellowfang if she needs anything?”

He blinked again. “As long as you bring something back.”

His tail shot up in relief. “Alright, thank you!”

Once he checked in with Yellowfang (she was bent over Robinwing, listening to the wheezing in her chest) he took off into the woods. Of all the things to do in the forest, he loved stretching his legs and running the most. Was there nothing better than testing his skill to leap over logs and skirt around obstacles, twisting and turning and navigating in ways he never thought possible before he’d become an apprentice?

He slowed and walked the rest of the way to the pine forest, letting the energy of the run caress him in warm fuzzies. He loved the forest. This was where he belonged.

And that felt especially true as the moons rose high in the sky and the fences came into view. He stepped out of the bushes and onto the short cross grass. Once it’d been a welcome sensation: it’d meant he was outside. But now it meant he was exposed. The fur along his back began to rise, twitching with discomfort.

“Princess?” he called, walking along the fences. “Princess, are you here?”

He jumped and whirled around, claws at the ready when he heard a body hit the grass behind him. An unfamiliar scent hit his nose, but the sight of the black and white cat stayed him, and not just because they looked utterly baffled. That hesitation gave them long enough to speak.

“ _Rusty?!”_

At once, he knew who this was. “Smudge!” he said in disbelief.

Smudge launched himself at Firepaw, purring with glee. “You’re alive! You’re alive and you came back! Oh I’m so happy to see you, Rusty—”

Laughing, Firepaw fended him off with a few friendly bats to the face. “Of course I’m alive! I’m not… _back_ though.”

By now they were nose to nose. “Huh?” Smudge said, with that same dim look on his face from before. His ears began to droop. “But…”

Firepaw sat back on his haunches, gesturing towards his belt. “I’m still with the clan,” he said. “I just came to visit. I was looking for Princess. Have you seen her?”

“Ah, no,” he said, faltering. “Not actually since you left. Which is kind of a relief but…” He looked at him, big yellow eyes watery and pleading. “Are you really not coming back? It can’t be that great out there. You’re so skinny. Aren’t you hungry?”

At that he thought about Spottedleaf, and how she’d died. About Greypaw’s siblings, who were gone before they even had names. About parents and siblings and grandparents and children and all that everyone has lost. Illness, injury, foxes, dogs, war…

And then he thought about the kittens. He thought about the twin moons and the stars and about Silverpelt. About how the elders were taken care of, the queens always fed, that kittens didn’t die unless they had to, and how everyone was taken care of. That even though the clan was hesitant about him, they gave him a chance. How warm and welcoming Redtail, Greypaw, and Ravenpaw were.

“Well sure there’s bad things,” he said, “but you couldn’t possibly imagine how many _good_ things there are, Smudge. I wish I could tell you, but the clan…well, I can’t talk too much about them. I’m okay, though. I think I’m happier? Just…just know that I want to be out here. This is where I’m supposed to be.”

“But I miss you,” Smudge said pitiably.

Firepaw didn’t agree right away, astounded by the knot of annoyance in his gut. He couldn’t help but feel indignant. Smudge had it all, pampered and safe and responsibility free, and he was complaining about _missing_ him?

He needed to take a step away from that gut reaction. Smudge’s life, the life of a kittypet in general, was just too different to compare. But it gave him a little more insight into why the forest cats disliked the town cats so much. Had he come across as spoiled and selfish when he’d first come to the forest?

“I know, but I’ll visit,” he said. “You smell weird, though.”

Smudge blinked. “Oh. Yeah, I lost my—y’know.” He shuffled his paws. “Y’know, like Henry and everyone else, pretty much. So they smell like neither male nor female, right?”

“Oh. _Oh._ ” At that, he decided that the town cats did _not_ necessarily have it better. Forest cats sure as hell didn’t have to worry about having bits and pieces as important as that cut off of them by humans. “Did it hurt?”

“Uh, kinda? I don’t want to talk about it. I’m good now. Just…” He shrugged. “It’s weird. The world seems more at peace. I feel different about, about certain…cats.” He flattened his ears and jerked away to look into the woods. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah, I promise. I, uh. I’m training with these two toms, actually, and we’ve become really good friends. One of them doesn’t even mind me jumping on him all the time,” he added with an amused twitch of his whiskers.

Even Smudge laughed at that. “Better him than me. I’m glad you have friends. Actually, my owners are getting another kitten, I think. They brought home a blanket the other day that smelled like one? Y’know, like their way of warning me.”

“Hey, that’s awesome!”

“I’m just worried? What if they don’t like me?”

“They’re _love_ you, Smudge. Everyone does. You’re so damn friendly.”

“Ha, if you say so.”

He could have talked to Smudge until dawn, but he had promises to fulfill. After awhile longer of catching up (fortunately, Smudge didn’t have nearly the same interest in clan life that Princess had now that he knew Firepaw was happy) he trotted back into the woods to go hunting for his clan’s needs.

Barely three steps into the bush, he nearly collided with someone. He jumped back, gut wrenching when he took in Sandstorm’s cold look.

“I saw you,” were the first words out of her mouth. “Where’s your clan loyalty now, kittypet?”

Though he knew he should be worried, he nonetheless felt the hairs on his spine begin to raise with anger. “Where’s my clan loyalty? How about in the herbs and mice I’m about to get for the clan? You use your free time to spend with _your_ friends, what’s wrong with spending my free time with _mine_? It’s not like I’d tell him anything about the clan. I know how important it is to keep outsiders from knowing too much.”

Her ears flattened. “Don’t you have friends in your clan?”

“Look,” he said, “Smudge was my best friend and sometimes I visit my sister. If you left the clan to go live somewhere else, and even if you made new friends there, wouldn’t _you_ want to see your dads? What about Dustpelt?”

“…You have a sister?” she said slowly.

He didn’t know why that part was important, but her fur had begun to lie flat. “Yeah,” he said carefully. “Her name’s Princess. We’re not…littermates, she’s from an older litter, but she…” He sighed and sat down, letting his fur lie flat. “She actually taught me to hunt and a little bit about fighting before I even joined the clan. She always encouraged me to explore, too. Sometimes I wonder if I would have become a Thunderclan cat if it wasn’t for her.”

“Ah.”

“You okay?”

At that, the sad look on her face was gone and her ears flattened. “You know you’re lucky you have a sister at all,” she retorted, lip curling. “You may be a clan cat, but you’ve still got that spoiled kittypet thinking. You’re a brat like any other fucking kittypet.”

“ _WHAT?!”_ he snarled, fur brushing out. “Are you fucking kidding me?! Because I have friends and family outside the clan—who I don’t even get to see, Sandstorm! Redtail lets me see them maybe twice a moon—”

She drew back liked he’s swatted her across the muzzle. “ _Dad_ lets you see them?!”

“Yes because he actually trusts me!” he shot back. Spitting furiously, he stalked past her. “And for the record,” he snapped over his shoulder, “it’s not all lounging and kibble for house cats, so how about you withhold judgement for once in your fucking life?”

He sprang into the bushes before she could cobble together a respond.


	25. Chapter 22

“Huh. Never seen you in this bad a fucking mood.”

Firepaw lay in the approaching dawn sun in the clearing of the Healer’s den. There, Yellowfang muttered beneath her breath and rearranged herbs, categorizing with an efficiency and memory he couldn’t fathom having himself. His lashing tail must have given him away, though. And to think, he’d come to lie in here so Greypaw and Ravenpaw _wouldn’t_ ask him why he was in a shit mood.

For some reason, it wasn’t so bad when Yellowfang brought it up. “I’m just sick and tired of house cats being talked about like dimwitted slobs. Not all of them are. Sure, Smudge is a little dumb, but he’s one fucking cat! Princess isn’t dumb or fat or spoiled! Henry was fat but he wasn’t dumb!”

He rolled onto his back, glaring as the rays of Hiverne set his belly fur aflame. “My _mother_ wasn’t dumb either. And she wasn’t fat and she sure as fuck wasn’t spoiled. And okay, let’s say all house cats _were_ dumb, fat, and spoiled: I’ve proved over and over that I’m _not_. Yet I get treated like I am all the time.”

Yellowfang snorted. He glanced over and, unsurprisingly, she hasn’t looked up from her task. She was listening, though.

“You’re right that you’re not dumb, fat, or spoiled,” she said, “and maybe not all _town cats_ are dumb, fat, and spoiled, but there’s a precedent set by kittypets—”

“Can you _please_ call them house cats? At least if you’re around me?”

She side-eyed him hard for that one. “— _house cats_ who feel entitled to whatever they can get their fat little paws on. And I know firsthand that they’re not all fat and dumb, I’ve had a couple of the fuckers give me scars that I won’t soon forget. But they _are_ spoiled, and they _are_ entitled. I’m sure you were too at some point.”

“That’s like saying rats and mice are the same thing because you can’t be bother to differentiate the two,” he spat. “Just because there might be less rats, less _decent_ house cats, doesn’t mean you have to decide that they’re _all_ bad.”

She sighed. “You’re not going to make any damn friends talking like that, ‘paw.”

“Then I don’t _want_ friends who can’t understand that not all house cats are bad! Even a lot of the spoiled ones are just, are just ignorant! I was ignorant, and now _I_ know better!”

“Hm.”

Yellowfang returned to her herbs. Firepaw returned to his tail lashing. Over time, though, he calmed down, beginning to feel sleepy as the sun warmed his fur.

“You know I thought at least you would understand,” he mumbled.

“And why’s that?”

“You’re from Shadowclan,” he said. “And I doubt you hear anyone here say good things about Shadowclan, right? I bet you hear everyone talk about how the Shadows are all terrible, about how they’re murderers and liars and only care about themselves even though it’s just Brokenstar and whoever supports him. I know I do. Doesn’t it hurt to hear that?”

That gave her pause, her paws hovering over her work. Slowly they lowered to the ground, and she turned to look at him, her eyes the most thoughtful he’s ever seen them.

“Fine, I’ll give you that you make a good point, but I don’t think we’re as similar as you think. I don’t have much left for me in Shadowclan, Firepaw,” she said. “I haven’t in nearly two years now.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Raggedstar was my mate,” she said. “Up until two summers ago when she came to me with that fucking whelp of a brat Brokenstar between her paws. I didn’t give a damn that she was bringing outsiders into the clan. A healer knows better than most that a clan needs fresh blood, and after the plague had wiped out so many of our warriors who were still in the prime of their lives, we needed it more than ever.

“But she asked me to be a mother with her,” she growled. “And I’d told her again and again that I don’t want kittens. I don’t _like_ kittens. And I sure as hell didn’t want to be responsible for any—I hated it enough when my parents had their second litter and little Nutkit and Rowankit wouldn’t let me breathe for a second. Hardly needed one of my own. We broke it off.”

“Okay, but what about your family, though? Don’t you miss them?”

“Nutwhisker and Rowanberry are more concerned with mates and kittens than me,” she replied. “And I with work more than them. My mother and I were never close, and my father…” She shook her head. “Two of the elders that died before we found them, Firepaw, they were my parents regardless. Not that I should be surprised. Mother was a stubborn old bitch, lived to the ripe age of thirteen before the wilderness took her.

“The point is,” she stressed, “Shadowclan became less and less a home and more an obligation. If I thought I wouldn’t be bored to fucking tears I would have let Cloudpelt take over as the clan’s healer and retired.” She began to sort again, scoffing softly beneath her breath. “For crying out loud, I’d almost rather live my days here than go back.”

“Well…well I, I wouldn’t mind if you stayed,” Firepaw admitted.

“Many would,” Yellowfang retorted. “Now, are you done moping?”

“Are you done thinking all house cats are spoiled and shitty?”

“Hmph.” Her tail swept across the ground. “I suppose I am.”

“Then yeah, I think I’m done moping.”

“Good, then take this to Robinwing.” She held out a bundle of sharp smelling leaves. “She’ll be awake soon, I suspect, and it’s time for her dose.”

He took the bundle and walked down the slope to Robinwing’s nest, so deeply tucked into the ferns that his voice couldn’t have penetrated it no matter how loud he’d been in his anger. Balancing perfectly on his hind paws, he leaned into the ferns to see if she was awake yet. Her eyes were closed tight, though, so he placed the bundle in front of her.

Something didn’t seem quite right, though. He stared at the brown molly for several seconds before it clicked. Robinwing’s breathing had been horrible and rasping, so loud that the ferns couldn’t quite muffle it. She was completely quiet now.

He jerked back out of the ferns and nearly fell backwards. “Yellowfang! Yellowfang, I think something’s wrong!”

For an old cat, Yellowfang moved fast. In a half second she was there and barging past him. He shakily watched her lean over Robinwing, giving her a once over with a hasty but steady eye, cool as ice. After a moment, she sighed, one paw resting on the molly’s motionless shoulder.

“Is she dead?” Firepaw asked quietly.

“Yes. I’m not surprised,” she added. “Spottedleaf was always a star blessed healer, but I still can’t believe she kept Robinwing going as long as she did.” Spotting the look on his face, she added, “She was very, very sick, Firepaw. It was only inevitable. Now go get Bluestar. She needs to know.”

Managing a nod, he rushed out of the den and loped around the tumble of rocks to the entrance of Bluestar’s den. He called out, hoping she was there. Fortunately, eyes gleamed in the darkness.

“What do you need, Firepaw?” she asked.

“Yellowfang needs you,” he said. More quietly, he added, “Robinwing died.”

Bluestar left in a rush after that. Firepaw tailed at a small distance, just within earshot as the two mollies spoke over Robinwing’s stilled body. Yellowfang mentioned that she was still warm. Recently dead. But that she’d gone in her sleep, as painless as could be. Bluestar thanked her.

When Bluestar left to announce it to the clan, Yellowfang asked, “’Paw, are you up to help for a moment?”

“Uh…”

“Just fetch quests. I need lavender. I know you remember the smell. After your first, you never forget. Bring me three sprigs.”

Remembering the scents coming off Spottedleaf’s pelt as she’d lain in the clearing for the clan’s vigil, he gave a sharp nod and trotted off deeper into the den. He snagged a few of the small, purple bunches and hurried back to watch Yellowfang chew up the lavender and rub down Robinwing’s pelt with it.

“Lavender helps hide the smell and loosens the joints,” Yellowfang explained as she massaged the gunk into her fur. “When a cat dies, their muscles lock up.”

“Like prey,” he murmured.

“Yes. By loosening their joints, warriors can manoeuvre the body better and make it easier to bury. In Shadowclan,” she added more quietly, “we plant lavender over the graves. Thunderclan doesn’t, but the smells of lavender sooths the soul, dead or alive, and calms them while they wait for Starclan to collect them.”

Afterwards, Robinwing’s body was moved into the center of the clearing. The clan had gathered around, but unlike Spottedleaf, they hardly seemed to react. Even her children, Lizardtail, Dustpelt, and Ravenpaw, watched the body with guarded looks. Firepaw couldn’t imagine looking at _his_ mother’s dead body the same way.

“Thank you for soothing her way to Starclan, Yellowfang,” Bluestar said. “You didn’t have to give your service in exchange for shelter, but you have and the clan wants to thank you.”

“I don’t,” Darkstripe piped up loudly. “Actually, I think it’s pretty interesting that Robinwing dies right after the Shadow takes up residence in the healer’s den.”

Firepaw expected Bluestar to quiet a suggestion so stupid, but she didn’t get a single word in edgewise as Yellowfang rose to her feet, stiff legged and tail lashing with barely contained fury.

“Say that to my face you spoiled brat,” she snarled. “If you even imply that I would murder any helpless cat under my care—”

“We’re _Thunderclan!”_ he exclaimed. “You’re a fucking Shadow, healer or not! Come on, you all can’t believe this is just some coincidence!”

“Robinwing—Mom was dying,” Ravenpaw interjected. “If Spottedleaf were alive, she wouldn’t have lasted no longer.”

“And Spottedleaf died two months ago,” Lizardtail hissed. “I get where you’re coming from, Darkstripe, but why the hell would the Shadow wait this long to do it?”

“To cover her fucking tracks! We better watch out for whatever poor bastard ends up in the healer’s den next, because they probably won’t last long—”

“Yellowfang!” Firepaw gasped when the old molly charged at Darkstripe and bowled him over.

And Darkstripe wasn’t a big cat, sure, but Yellowfang, like any Shadow, was exceptionally small. All that size seemed to do nothing but concentrate the fury she was capable of, though, as she clawed deep lashes across Darkstripe’s muzzle.

“GET HER OFF!” Darkstripe shrieked.

Cats sprang away as they rolled and tussled. Firepaw lunged forward, and so did Redtail, Whitestorm, and Tigerclaw, grabbing wherever they could to save Darkstripe from the furious molly.

“See?!” Darkstripe screeched, fighting out of Redtail and Tigerclaw’s hold to cower behind his brother. “She’s fucking insane!”

“I’ve been accused of murder enough without a pathetic whelp like you piling on more!” Yellowfang snarled. “You rat faced shit eating—” Firepaw slapped a paw over her mouth to muffle the remainder of the fouls curses streaming from her jaws.

“Enough!” Bluestar boomed. “Darkstripe, your claims are completely unfounded!”

He sneered. “Bluestar, she just attacked me!”

“You insulted her!” Firepaw exclaimed, even though Redtail shot him a warning look to keep quiet. “Would _you_ just sit there and let _me_ say awful things about you?!”

Darkstripe hissed softly at him and said nothing. By now, Yellowfang had fought herself free. By no means did she look ready to back down, though, crouched as she was, tail lashing and iron gaze fixed on Darkstripe like she might spring and rip out his throat at any second.

Firepaw didn’t understand. Yellowfang had already heard every insult she could possibly be called. She’d been called a _kit murderer_. Why had this been the thing to push her over?

“Yellowfang,” Bluestar said, drawing the molly’s ireful look, “I don’t care what you do in Shadowclan. In Thunderclan, we keep our claws to ourselves. I hope you’ll be mindful of that for the duration of your stay.”

Yellowfang slowly straightened up, tail still lashing. “Don’t expect me to patch your wounds, brat,” she spat at Darkstripe as she stiffly returned to her post.

Bluestar moved on. “We’ll set Robinwing’s body and hold vigil. I would like to discuss her burial with her family. In the meantime, Yellowfang and Darkstripe, I suggest you two take some time outside of camp to calm down.”

Without another word, Yellowfang whipped around and left. Bluestar dismissed the clan, beckoning Fuzzypelt and his sons. Firepaw shot a look at Yellowfang, then to Redtail. He nodded.

He sprang after Yellowfang and followed her out of camp.

If she cared for his presence, she didn’t say anything. She led him through the territory towards the road that separated Shadowclan and Thunderclan. Eventually, they came to a tumble of rocks where the snakes liked to sunbathe. Some of them were there now, but Firepaw wasn’t worried. Though Redtail had told him that some of the snakes were poisonous, those onesrattled when they were about to bite. Only exceptionally foolhardy cats had ever been bitten.

It was there that Yellowfang sat, staring huge eyed into the Shadowclan territory across the road. As the sky brightened and Hiverne’s eye travelled further up the sky, cars began the zip by, colourful shells gleaming in the light. Cozied in the shade like they were beneath the broad shade of fern fronds, Hiverne couldn’t see them while they were away from camp and they were safe from his scrutiny.

Even in the light, though, Shadowclan territory was always dark. It had to be, Firepaw thought, as despised by Hiverne as they were. He wondered, actually, if Yellowfang would be persecuted by the god now that she was in Thunderclan. Open his mouth to ask. Thought better of it, considering the mood.

She had a look on her face that he couldn’t describe. One that he felt like he wasn’t old enough to understand, maybe.

“You, uh, you okay?” he asked.

“You’re too young,” she said, and he winced.

“Yeah, but I’m good at listening,” he offered.

Her eyes closed, but for a mere second. “I’m not a murderer,” she began.

“I know.”

She growled. “I know you know. Now shut up and prove you can listen.”

“Sorry.”

“I’m not a murderer,” she repeated, “and my mentor was. Sagewhisker was the healer before me. One morning I saw her at the mouth of the den—I shouldn’t have known that what she fed Birchnose was no-night, but I’d overheard her tell her apprentice, Birchnose himself actually,” she laughed, “too damn delirious to know that the thing beneath his nose was death.

“Thought it came in handy at the time, though. Remembered it, not thinking that one innocent act like that would put my paws on the untrodden path that it did. Now I’d seen my clan’s healer kill her own apprentice, and when she announced at dusk that he’d died of illness, I knew my destiny from then on.

“I was in my prime when I saw that. Raggedstar, still Moosepelt at the time, was not yet my mate. Cedarstar and I…were not close. Not close enough that I could tell him that his fucking healer was a murderer. Much less when I discovered that she was a serial murderer, killing any cat who came through her den whom she thought was dragging the clan down.

“She told me that’s why she did it, through blood and spittle after I slit her fucking throat years later. That she only wanted to cut the weakness from the clan like wolves cut sick does from herds of deer.

“In the end that was an excuse,” she spat. “It was a fucking power trip, holding the life of those innocent cats in her paws. And because she didn’t have an apprentice who could secede her if I took care of her, I became her apprentice. I learned everything I needed, and then I stopped her for good.

“The clan thought it was just an accident. Killed and flattened by the cars on the road where I dumped her flea ridden corpse.” She sniffed. “And they thought I was sent a sign by Starclan, thinking her death was just days after the completion of my training and that I was given divine right to replace her.

“All that,” she said, and her voice dropped to a whisper, “all that, and still I was extricated from the clan because of the words of a half-mad dogkin son of a town whore. A spoiled idiot who’s no less the power greedy monster that Sagewhisker was.”

Firepaw sat speechless. He couldn’t wrap his head around it all. But it made sense. He believed her.

“I’ve never told anyone that,” she said flatly. “Not even Raggedstar. Maybe I should have. Maybe it would have helped her see that same evil in Brokenstar.”

“Wow,” he said. “That’s…wow. You did all that for your clan? Did you even _want_ to be a healer? Aren’t you mad that you had to…?”

Her tail tip tapped the ground. Three more cars flew by, spraying up dust and grit that forced their faces away.

“No,” she finally said. “I found satisfaction in my work. Maybe it really was Starclan’s calling for me—I’m damn good at it, at least—I just did what they needed before they could tell me. Not like they ever told me.”

“Does Starclan ever tell you anything?”

She snorted. “Vaguely.”

“Why not directly?”

“Who knows. Maybe their power isn’t as grand as we like to believe. Maybe they’re pulling strings to a game that we can’t possibly comprehend. I don’t give much of a damn at this point.”

He nodded. He almost felt compelled to tell her about his Moonstone dream—but Spottedleaf hadn’t known anything. He wasn’t sure Yellowfang would either. And honestly? Sharing with too many cats, or too many of the _wrong_ cats, just didn’t sit well with him. In fact it felt like something he should keep to himself. Something that only he should know.

“Is that another reason why you don’t want to go back to Shadowclan?” he asked. “You think they’ll find out?”

She shook her head. “No one is going to solve a four-year-old murder, ‘paw. It’s just a sore spot now. I lashed out at Darkstripe because he didn’t know what he was comparing me to. That the cat he thinks I am is exactly the cat I despise the most.”

“Okay. Thanks for telling me. I promise I won’t tell anyone.”

Shocked, he went still as the turned and touched her nose to his ear. “I know you won’t. Thank you, Firepaw. You’re better than most.”


	26. Chapter 23

“On their third moon, I’d now like to formally welcome Frostfur and Lionheart’s kittens to the clan!” Bluestar announced from atop the rock tumble. “Snowkit, Brackenkit, Thornkit, and Brightkit have finally received their names and are old enough to begin joining clan life!”

The clan cheered, but from beside Firepaw, Yellowfang did not. Her eyes were fixed on Snowkit, of all cats, as the tiny white tom looked around the clearing hazily.

“What’s wrong?” Firepaw asked.

“We’ll see soon,” was all she said.

As the clan dispersed following the brief ceremony, Lionheart herded together his sons and daughter to bundle them in the direction of the nursery. Frostfur, however, motioned Snowkit to follow her towards Yellowfang. He happily trotted after her, tail high in the air.

“Thank you for seeing him,” Frostfur said. “I know you aren’t—”

“I get it from every damn cat in the clan,” Yellowfang interrupted. “Let’s just get on with it. What’s wrong?”

Frostfur’s ears flattened. Meanwhile, Snowkit teetered away, dabbing at a leaf that had fallen. A reminder now that summer was drawing to a close, much to Firepaw’s dismay.

“He doesn’t listen,” Frostfur said, seating herself on Yellowfang’s other side. “Call him, Firepaw.”

“Uh…okay. Snowkit!” he said. “Snowkit, you should show me your leaf!”

Snowkit didn’t respond. Firepaw tried again, but it wasn’t until he was nearly yelling at the top of his lungs that Snowkit began looking around—and not even at him.

“Hm.” Yellowfang caught the kitten’s eye and beckoned him with her tail tip. She put a paw on his rump to sit him down in front of her, telling Firepaw to first speak into one ear, and then the next. Snowkit hardly reacted when spoken to on his left side, and though he did turn on the right, he was more concerned with batting at Yellowfang’s twitching tail tip.

“Deaf,” she finally said. “His left ear is worse than his right.”

Frostfur sighed, but she didn’t look surprised. “I was afraid of this. I have trouble hearing out of my left ear as well, and everyone knows that Silverpelt puts her sadness from the Snows into white kittens.”

“What?” Firepaw said, baffled. “Why would she do that?”

Frostfur shook her head. “You can’t have good without bad, ‘paw. It’s the way of things.”

“Okay but…okay.” He glanced at Snowkit, who was attacking Yellowfang’s tail with increasing ferocity. He was shocked that the molly tolerated him at all, especially with the way her eyes sparked with annoyance. “So now what?”

“You’ll have to speak to Bluestar,” Yellowfang said to Frostfur. “She’ll prepare a special mentor for Snowkit—someone who is patient and willing to begin learning claw speech with him as soon as possible while the rest of the clan catches up.”

“I know some myself…”

“Have a talk with your elders. I know it, but I don’t know how much Shadow speak differs from Thunder speak.”

“Alright. Thank you again, Yellowfang. And thank you for helping, Firepaw.”

When the cats were out of earshot, Firepaw blurted out worriedly, “What’s going to happen to him?”

Yellowfang looked at him blankly. “I already answered that.”

“But can he still be a warrior?”

“If he wants to be a damn warrior, then he can do whatever the hell he wants. He’s got a nose, he’s got eyes, and he’s still got claws. He’ll be fine.” When he continued to look doubtful, she added, “I’ve seen deaf cats hunt better than hearing cats. If you don’t want the clan judging you for being a kit—a _housecat_ ,” she corrected reluctantly, “then don’t you start on Snowkit for being deaf.”

“I-I’m just…I can’t imagine not being able to _hear_.”

“And he can’t imagine being able to hear. Get over it and go do something useful. Nosy little gossip,” she growled as she walked away.

Just in time for Redtail to call for him. Greypaw and Ravenpaw were already sitting with him, along with their mentors.

“The three of you are approaching the end of your training,” Redtail said, sending a ripple of excitement through all three of them. “With that in mind, I want to start focusing more and more on independence. Without any of us, I want the three of you to do a quick patrol along the Riverclan border. Refresh the markers, check that they’ve remained on their side of the border, and if you find anything unusual then report it to us. Sound good?”

“Yes!” Greypaw exclaimed. “This is going to be great!”

The three warriors chuckled. “I wish all of my cats reacted that way for patrols,” Redtail commented. “Off you go, then. Firepaw, I’d like you to be in charge. Ravenpaw, Greypaw, if something happens, I want Firepaw to have the final say on how to handle it.”

“Why him?” Greypaw said while Ravenpaw agreed.

“What? You think you could do better?” Firepaw said dryly.

“I’m afraid your answer to every problem will be to hit it until it stops,” Redtail said flatly, “and I doubt Ravenpaw wants anything to do with leadership.”

“No sir!” he squeaked.

“Then that settles that. Off you go and good luck.”

The border was, unsurprisingly, quiet. After the fight against Shadowclan on Wind territory, no further skirmishing had occurred on the Riverclan border.

They reluctantly went around Sunningrocks, Greypaw spitting something foul beneath his breath about the Rivers. Firepaw, still not knowing much about this generations long feud nor Sunningrocks itself, didn’t much care. The way he saw it, Riverclan had won it fair and square…for now.

“I don’t get them,” Greypaw said. “Who wants to spend all night in the water anyways? Especially in fall and winter! How do they not get so cold that they die?”

“Same way your fuzzy ass doesn’t,” Ravenpaw mumbled. Having inherited Robinwing’s thin coat, he always had a shiver these days. “You complain, but you look more like a River than a Thunder.”

Greypaw gasped dramatically. “You take that back!”

“Not on your life.”

“Do you guys hear that?” Firepaw said, interrupting what very well might have turned into a tussle.

“Here what?” they echoed as one, before stopping and listening alongside him.

That was all the time Riverclan needed. Spitting fury, a patrol of warriors burst from the bushes and the fight began in a flash of claws and an arc of blood.

Firepaw caught the first warrior, but underestimated the fat and muscle beneath his coat as he was slammed to the ground. He battered vainly at the tom’s belly, earning himself a nasty bite over the ear. He shrieked and twisted, raking sharp claws wherever he could and failing to do much damage to the tom’s thick white pelt.

Until he landed a kick that left him gasping. He scrambled out from beneath him and up the trunk of a tree, bumbling into a terrified Ravenpaw.

“Run!” he gasped. “Get help!”

Ravenpaw looked at him, wild eyes on the verge of panic. At once, sanity cleared the fog and he nodded sharply. He sprang off the trunk and disappeared.

Firepaw yelped when claws sank into his haunches, frantically hauling himself in the crook of a branch and rounding on his attacker with a yell of fury. Unable to launch an attack, the River dropped back down. He was joined by a second, and they circled the base of the tree. Elsewhere, where Firepaw couldn’t see, he knew that Greypaw was thick in combat with the other two members of the patrol.

“This has been a long time coming, Thunders!” yowled the white tom. “We know you chased that dog straight onto River territory—and it’s time you get a taste of what we lost!”

All the fur on his spine raised. The dog! He remembered hearing that one of Riverclan’s warriors had been killed by it! His breaths came short with a new fear. Did that mean they were going to kill one of them?

And with Greypaw being the only one of the ground, he knew that if he didn’t do something, one of these two might just turn his friend’s fight into a three on one. Terrified that the two warriors would rip him apart, he nonetheless dropped down, shrieking at the top of his lungs as he dropped hard on the molly’s back.

He didn’t realize it was Leopardpaw, not even as he noted the rosettes, too concerned with tearing up her back and strewing her glistening fur across the clearing. The tom lunged at him, teeth snapping a whisker from his ear. Remembering Yellowfang’s recommendation, he locked his jaws around Leopardpaw’s ear and gave her a vicious shake.

He paid for that. She cursed and shrieked beneath him and the tom, in a fit, wrapped his paws around Firepaw and tore him away. He hit the ground hard enough to drive the wind from him and when the tom landed on him, he couldn’t seem to get it back.

“Give up, ‘paw!” the tom snarled, giving him a hardy smack across the face.

“Fuck you!” he spat, wheezing for air as he tried to squirm away. The tom smacked him again and once more, and the world began to spin.

A yowl pierced the air and a streak of grey fur slammed into the tom’s side. It was followed by a large ginger body as Goldenflower snarled a warning for Cinderpaw to get out of the way, taking a protective stance over Firepaw as he gasped for air.

“Try it, fish breath!” she snarled as the two Rivers began to circle them, tails lashing.

Cinderpaw ducked down beside Firepaw, eyes huge. “Are you okay?”

He wanted to nod, but he was seeing two of her and everything hurt. It was safer to shake his head. But even as he did, he hauled himself to his feet, not about to let Goldenflower face down two Rivers on her own.

“I’m surprised you can still stand,” Leopardpaw spat.

His legs shook. He barely could. “I’m surprised I didn’t cover the clearing with how much fur I tore out of you,” he retorted.

Like a dam unleashed, Leopardpaw flew at him and the fighting started anew. With two new fighters, though, they were on more equal grounds. Leopardpaw and her partner couldn’t handle two fresh warriors, even if one of them was little more than an overgrown ‘paw.

They didn’t have to hold out long, though. A yowl in the distance signaled the approach of the Thunderclan patrol and the white tom, now bleeding heavily from an ear, called off the attack.

“We got what we wanted anyways,” he snarled as he strode back towards the border. “Let that be a warning of what’s to come the next time you think about driving a fucking dog across the border, Thunders!”

Still wheezing, Firepaw shakily sat down. Goldenflower began to sniff at his wounds, but he shook his head and gestured towards the bushes where Greypaw had been fighting. He couldn’t go to his friend himself, but he could at least make sure that Goldenflower got to him first.

As she stepped towards Greypaw, the tom himself dragged himself out of the bushes, more burr than fur and looking nearly as bad as Firepaw felt.

“I’m okay,” he panted. “They had trouble getting me in the bushes. Rivers don’t like thorns, I guess.”

“Sorry,” Firepaw wheezed, “didn’t realize that you _do?”_

He managed breathless laugh. “Thick fur’s good for something, Firepaw!”

As the words left his mouth, Redtail, Whitestorm, Lionheart, and Ravenpaw ran up. Ravenpaw looked like a panicked mess, and the three warriors’ fur was all bushed out.

“What happened? How are everyone’s injuries?” Redtail demanded.

“The thorns did more damage to Greypaw than the Rivers,” Goldenflower announced, “but Firepaw took a few hits to the head that might be more serious.”

Redtail hurried over and began to order him every which way, inspecting him thoroughly while Lionheart and Whitestorm went to Greypaw. He tried telling his mentor that he was okay, but he felt very tired and shaky and he wasn’t sure if that _was_ okay.

“Am I gonna die?” he managed, fear squeezing him tighter and tighter.

At that, Redtail a soft laugh. “ _No_ , Firepaw, you’re fine,” he promised. “You’re badly shaken, but trust me when I say…” He took a deep breath. “Trust me when I say I’ve seen the Rivers do far, far worse.”

He relaxed. “Okay.”

“The worst part is going to be getting back to camp,” he said, “but a good sleep and meal and you’ll feel much better, alright?”

“Redtail?” Goldenflower piped up while he helped Firepaw to his feet. “The Rivers were saying this attack was provoked by the dog that ran over the border some months ago.”

Redtail snorted. “That’s an excuse if I’ve ever heard one. If they really wanted revenge, they had plenty of time to do it sooner. They wanted to leave us injured so they would have better chance at winter territory.”

“But they got hurt too,” Firepaw said. “What’s the point?”

“The point is that Riverclan has food to spare in the winter, so taking a few injuries won’t hurt them as much,” he replied. “Riverclan is at its weakest in summertime—when the river’s so low that they need to hunt to supplement the meagre pickings of fish.”

“Why bother lying about the dog then?”

“Even concussed you’re still asking questions,” Redtail huffed, though his whiskers twitched with amusement. “It’s a holier-than-thou way of justifying the attack. Now shush up and let’s get you back to camp—you fought well, and we’re going to make sure you have the chance to do it again.”


	27. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys I've started writing short stories for the side characters! The first one I wrote was about Yellowfang and Raggedstar's breakup. You can read it (and all future shorts) here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26002099/chapters/63219673
> 
> Also PLEASE check out Ima_Lonely_Pixel's artwork! They illustrated a comic of a scene from the prologue and it looks amazing: https://multishipper-ships.tumblr.com/post/626982313854681088/warriors-rewritten-into-the-wild-chapter-1

Yellowfang told him he had a concussion, which according to her just meant he’d hit his head too many times and needed to stay away from activities for a little while. He worried that this meant his training would get delayed that much longer, but the old healer promised him that he could go back to light training after a few days.

While he and Greypaw sat in the apprentice den, after Bluestar had told the clan what had happened, Ravenpaw slipped inside. His tail was stuck between his legs and he ducked his head away to avoid meeting their eyes.

“Hey,” Greypaw said, “what’s up with you?”

Ravenpaw winced, crouching awkwardly in a nest further from them than usual. “It’s nothing.”

“No, what’s wrong?” Firepaw said. “You look upset.”

Impossibly, Ravenpaw seemed to curl up even tighter. “You two got really beat up and I don’t even have a scratch on me!” he exclaimed. “If I’d fought instead of running up the tree like a fucking coward, then I could have helped you two until Goldenflower and Cinderpaw showed up!”

Firepaw’s ears twisted back. “Yeah but you said you don’t want to fight—”

“Because I’m a coward!”

“No you’re not.”

The fur along his spine twitched as he only grew more agitated. “Yes I am! Obviously I am!” he snapped.

Firepaw opened his mouth to argue, only for Greypaw to slap his tail across it. “Shut up for a second,” he growled beneath his breath.

“I’m a coward,” Ravenpaw continued more dejectedly. “I’m so scared of fighting I don’t think I can ever do it. It’s pointless. _I’m_ pointless.”

“So what?” Greypaw said.

That threw Ravenpaw off. “What do you mean so what?” he said. “I _left_ you two—”

“Yeah, to go get help,” he said calmly. “You’re not Starclan, Ravenpaw, you can’t see the fucking future. You didn’t know Goldenflower was coming, so you did the next best thing: you ran to get help. Do it quicker next time, and you’ll be even more helpful.”

“But if I’d helped—”

“Yeah, if you’d helped _this one specific time when Goldenflower and Cinders happened to be there,_ it would’ve gone differently,” he interrupted. “But how ‘bout the next time, when no one’s in earshot, and we’re still outnumbered?”

Ravenpaw shuffled his paws. “Oh.”

“Got so hung up on this time that you weren’t thinking of other times.”

“Yeah but…” His ears flattened. “It doesn’t change the fact that I won’t fight.”

“Yeah? So what?”

“You can’t keep saying so what!” he protested.

“Yeah I can because you’re being ridiculous,” he retorted. “Plenty of cats in the clan don’t fight. But you’re still good at hunting and you can still patrol and you can still teach and you still got legs to run and get help, and even if you didn’t have any of those you’re still Thunderclan and that’s all you _need_ to be to be worthy of having a spot here.”

He flattened his ears, but it was a more playful kind of annoyed. “That’s a stupid way to put it.”

“Well excuse me, we can’t all be storytellers who know what to do with their words!”

They broke into giggles. Firepaw let himself purr, pleased that Greypaw was able to smooth over the situation. Even more so as Ravenpaw joined them, sandwiching Greypaw between the two of them so they could take advantage of his warmth and sleepily help him groom the remains of bush debris out of his pelt.

“Firepaw!” All three jerked awake when Cinderpaw ran into the den, skidding to such an abrupt stop that she sprayed bits of moss and leaves everywhere. “Firepaw, I wanted to see how you’re doing! Are you okay? Grey, are _you_ okay?”

“We were just fine until your loud ass barged in,” Greypaw retorted.

“Don’t let mom hear you say that,” Swiftpaw said as he slipped in behind her.

“Yeah? You think she’ll be happy that you’re _disturbing me_ when I’m _injured?_ ”

“Maybe you should have fought better. Then you wouldn’t be so injured.”

“Fuck you.”

“Mom!” Swiftpaw said, raising his voice just enough to threaten his brother with actually calling for Mossflower.

“Can you knock it off and let me sleep?” Firepaw grumbled.

“I just wanted to know how you’re feeling,” Cinderpaw protested. “Don’t be mean.”

“I was fine until you woke me up.” She shuffled her paws, wide eyed and apologetic, so he sighed and added, “I’m fine, thank you. I’m just really tired right now, and I have a really bad headache.”

“Yeah you should let Firepaw sleep,” Swiftpaw said. “Mom does want to see you, though, Grey.”

“Tell her I’m sleeping.”

“But you’re not.”

Greypaw put his head down on his paws and turned away from him. “Yes I am.”

Swiftpaw huffed. “Fine, but you owe me.”

He left, leaving Cinderpaw. Firepaw tried to curl up back to sleep too, only to have her flop down beside him. Oddly gentle for her, she pressed into his side.

“Feel better soon,” she said, “I don’t want to miss a single day of training with you guys.”

Warmed by her kindness, Firepaw slipped into unconsciousness once more.

In the coming days, he recovered quickly and returned to training. Though he spent a lot of that time helping guide Swiftpaw and Cinderpaw—they all did, which Redtail said was a key part of their training and proving that they truly knew enough to become warriors.

He couldn’t help but notice that while they trained, though, the warriors often sat together and spoke in murmurs. Not about training, though. From what he gathered, Bluestar was planning swift retribution against Riverclan. The thought didn’t sit well with him. Wouldn’t this just make things worse? It sounded like a cycle that wouldn’t soon break.

When he brought it up to Greypaw and Ravenpaw, though, they shrugged. “It’s not weird or anything,” Greypaw said. “You either attack them back, or if you don’t have the resources, you wait until everything’s forgotten until the next time something happens.”

“I don’t know, it just sounds ridiculous to me. We could be getting along.”

“Yeah but they attacked us,” he said. “What else are we supposed to do? Hey, Cinder! Get your crouch right, idiot!”

He walked away, and Ravenpaw shot him a sympathetic look. “I get it,” he said. “If the clans never had to fight again, it’d be too soon. But he’s got a point about them attacking us first—and if you let them get away with it, they’ll just attack us more and more…”

“Yeah, I guess,” he grumbled.

“Firepaw!”

Redtail beckoned with his tail. Relieved to disengage from an argument where no one was on his side, he trotted over. It looked like all the warriors had been having a pretty serious discussion, and now they’d been joined by Tigerclaw, Sandstorm, and Dustpelt.

“I want you and the other apprentices to hunt,” he sad. “Hopefully enough to feed the clan. Sandstorm and Dustpelt will be taking a few of you each and splitting up. You and Cinderpaw will go with Sandstorm, alright?”

He didn’t want to go with Dustpelt _or_ Sandstorm, but especially Sandstorm after her nasty comments about his house cat roots. He nodded anyways. Mostly because he doesn’t want to make life any harder for Redtail than it already is.

At least Cinderpaw provided a buffer, filling what could have been a chilly silence with her endless chatter.

“I just think Swift is a bad name for him!” she was saying. “He isn’t fast at all _I’m_ faster than him! He’s too big and clunky and stupid!”

Sandstorm snorted, whiskers twitching. “A swift’s a type of bird too, ‘paw. He _looks_ like a swift.”

She gawped at her. “What? It is? But I’ve never eaten one!”

“That’s because they’re hard to catch. They never land on the ground, not unless they fall.”

“Then what do they eat?”

Firepaw listened to the conversation in silence. A part of him wished that Sandstorm would talk to him with the same patience and openmindedness that she spared for Cinderpaw. He knew why, though. Cinderpaw was clanborn, no matter the dubious origins of her father, and that was all that mattered to Sandstorm.

He figured this was how Robinwing felt, constantly having to do double the work for the same recognition. Making less mistakes for the same punishment. But at least Bluestar was fair—and that was more than he could say for the majority of the clan.

Once they’d coaxed Cinderpaw to be quiet, they managed to catch some food and teach the young apprentice a thing or two about hunting. He had to admit that she was quite fast and agile—more than him, though not quite with the grace that Sandstorm had. She would make a good warrior some day.

While hunting near the river, watching Cinderpaw stalk a goose late to migrate (he eagerly awaited seeing how this would end) Sandstorm spoke.

“I thought about what happened the other day.”

“Oh,” he said, mood souring. “Yeah. I guess I did too.”

“I wasn’t fair to you.” She kept her eyes fixed on Cinderpaw the entire time she spoke. “I lashed out because I got upset. You aren’t spoiled. Honestly, you’re a better clan cat than some actual clan cats.”

He shot her a look. This wasn’t what he’d expected. All he could manage was a flustered “What?”

She glanced at him out the corner of her eye. “I’ve been talking with Dad—with Swiftstep—a lot lately. For all my calling you spoiled, I think I was the spoiled one. I got used to Redtail babying me because…” She sighed. “I guess he thought it would make me feel better after Amberpaw died, and it did, but it didn’t make me a better cat for it.”

He blinked at her. “Amberpaw was your sister?”

“Yeah. She died last winter.” She grimaced. “It was awful. She got buried in snow from a human machine clearing off the road and froze.”

“I’m sorry.”

“That’s life,” she said. “That’s… _clan_ life, at least.” She took a deep breath. “You know, that makes me curious. I know Bluestar didn’t make life out here seem easy, so why would you leave it?”

“I like how Thunderclan society works.”

“You didn’t know how it worked until you joined us,” she pointed out. “What made you give us a chance?”

He blinked. “Well…well the forest just feels right, I guess. It’s hard to explain, but life in the Houses never seemed to be enough. That day when I wandered into the woods for the first time, though… That was the first time I really felt alive.”

She laughed quietly, almost staring at him in disbelief. “Really? You felt all that, and you were only six moons?”

“Yeah. Haven’t stopped feeling it, actually.”

Her whiskers twitched. “You know what, I can see it. A lot of you seems cut out for clan life, even if you like to break the rules.”

He gave her shoulder a playful swat. “Yeah? Like _you’ve_ never broken the rules?”

“Let’s not talk about _my_ rulebreaking,” she retorted, tail curling. “But really, you’re going to make a good warrior.”

“Oh. Thank you, Sandstorm.”

As those words left his lips, Cinderpaw launched herself at the goose. He and Sandstorm laughed with delight when it rounded on her furiously and she, losing all bluster, turned and fled, tail between her legs.


	28. Chapter 25

Three nights before the next Gathering, Frostfur and Lionheart’s kittens disappeared.

Firepaw had never seen Frostfur particularly frantic. She was as stone cold as her name suggested, but as he watched her move from den to den, checking and double checking wherever the kittens could be, he could see the lash of her tail become wilder, her eyes become bigger, until finally she disappeared into Bluestar’s den.

“What’cha looking at?” Greypaw asked, looking up from his third mouse of the night.

“I think Frostfur’s looking for her kits,” he said. “I don’t think they’re in camp.”

“What?” Ravenpaw hissed. “But remember what Windclan said? About how they lost an entire litter of kittens?”

Greypaw gasped. “And Brokenstar said _Yellowfang_ …”

“It wasn’t Yellowfang!” Firepaw immediately snapped.

“Yeah, but how do you know that for certain?” Greypaw said.

He flattened his ears. Bluestar had never announced to the clan that they had been told “by Starclan” that Brokenstar had killed the kittens, and no one had told him if it was okay to talk about with anyone else, so he’d kept quiet.

And he decided, reluctantly, to keep being quiet. “Look, I bet she’s in her den right now even. You’re just being ridiculous.”

To prove his point, he got up and trotted over without waiting for them to respond. And of course he found her inside, calmly grooming herself.

“I don’t think one grooming session is going to help your pelt,” he commented.

She shot him a wicked glare. “And what’s a brat like you doing in here, insulting your elders?”

He shrugged. “I give as much as I get, don’t’cha think?”

She snorted. “What do you want, Firepaw?”

“Frostfur’s kits are missing,” he said. She stiffened, even right down to the tip of her tail, and he flattened his ears, suddenly just as concerned as she looked. “Yellowfang? Why do you look so worried?”

Before the old molly could give him an answer, Bluestar’s yowl sounded from outside the den. He shot her a quick look and hurried outside to join the clan meeting.

“Frostfur’s kits have gone missing!” Bluestar announced once everyone was gathered. “Sandstorm and Goldenflower, you two have the best noses in the clan. I want you to take a patrol of three each and search for scents around the camp perimeter, be it kitscent, fox,” and she sighed, “or even Shadowclan. Tigerclaw, you can take another patrol of three and walk along the Shadows’ border. Act quickly. The nights are becoming cold, and kittens don’t last long in it.”

She leapt down amidst the clan as everyone organized, stopping as Tigerclaw approached her.

“Bluestar, we should check on Yellowfang,” he murmured. “And if she’s in camp, keep her here until the kittens are found.”

She flattened her ears. “Why don’t you take your patrol to the border and stop telling me how to run my clan? We already know she isn’t the kit killer.”

The corner of his lip twitched, and for one horrifying second, Firepaw thought he might see the flash of claws. But Tigerclaw merely dipped his head and stalked away. Bluestar called Redtail over.

Firepaw turned to Yellowfang. “Do you think—”

He blinked. She wasn’t there, and he’d sworn that she followed him out of the den. Looking around, though, she was nowhere to be found in the clearing. Fur spiking along his shoulders, he hurried over to the healer’s den, only to find that it, too, was empty.

But he could see where Yellowfang had climbed up and out of the den from the broken ferns and the scattered rock. He couldn’t believe it.

“Firepaw?” He jumped and whirled around as Redtail entered the den. “Is Yellowfang in here?”

He shuffled his paws. “No, Redtail. I think I remember her saying that she was going to get ring nettle.”

Redtail appraised him, then let his eyes flicker around the den. “Firepaw, I understand that you and Yellowfang have become close…”

“I don’t know where she is, Redtail,” he insisted. “She really is probably looking for herbs somewhere. She doesn’t even know Frostfur’s kits are missing.”

The breath that left his mentor didn’t sound happy, but nonetheless he nodded. “Alright. Why don’t you see if you can find her then? Take Greypaw and Ravenpaw.”

He met Redtail’s eyes and knew immediately that Redtail did not believe him, and yet still believed _in_ him. Nodding a quick assent, Firepaw slipped past him and trotted over to Greypaw and Ravenpaw.

“Redtail wants you two to help me track down Yellowfang,” he hissed.

They looked at him in surprise. “Wait, so she _wasn’t_ in her den?” Ravenpaw whispered.

“It’s more complicated than that,” he said. “Wait for me on the River side of the ravine.”

After that, he darted over to the Shadowclan elders, who at least had the courtesy to give their sympathies to Frostfur about the possible fate of her kittens. Once she’d moved on, he walked up to Nightpelt.

“Can I ask you something?” he said.

“Not sure now’s the time, ‘paw,” he said, ear twisting back.

“Let’s hear it, though,” Newtspeck prompted.

“I don’t know if you were around for this,” he began, “but Brokenstar told the clans that Yellowfang was a kit killer. Do you…know anything about that?”

The pair exchanged looks. Newtspeck answered, “Do you know what you’re asking, ‘paw? That’s personal clan business.”

“But this Shadowclan isn’t your Shadowclan,” he argued, “and right now I’m trying to help Yellowfang. She…” He glanced around quickly to make sure that no one was in earshot, then dropped his voice. “When I told her about Frostfur’s kittens, she took off. Do you know why? I just want to help her before everyone else realizes she’s gone.”

Newtspeck hesitated, and it was Nightpelt who broke. “Alright, ‘paw, fine. Brokenstar’s been having his…his _minions_ steal kittens from other clans. Obviously he framed Yellowfang, but she—”

“Had nothing to do with it I already know that,” he said, working hard to keep his voice even. “But why would she run off?”

“To catch the bastard before they get back to Shadow territory,” Newtspeck said. “Firepaw…you Snowkit is deaf, right?”

“Y…yeah?”

“The moment Brokenstar realizes that, Snowkit dies,” Nightpelt said flatly. “To him, deafness is a weakness, just like our age and illness is ours. To him, it’s something that needs to be purged.”

“And everyone knows that white kittens are cursed by the Snows,” Newtspeck said. “If you don’t find those kittens before Brokenstar gets his claws on them… And besides that, once they’re on Shadowclan territory…”

“Trying to get them back will mean all out war,” Nightpelt finished.


	29. Chapter 26

Firepaw leapt up the ravine as fast as he could, heart slamming in his chest. Ravenpaw and Greypaw leapt to their feet when they saw him coming.

“Brokenstar is the kit killer!” he burst out. “And we need to help Yellowfang!”

They exchanged a look. “How do you know that?” Greypaw asked.

“Spotted— The, the Shadowclan elders told me. Come on, we need to go!”

“What? Firepaw you can’t be serious—they’re Shadowclan!”

“Then I’ll go myself!” he spat.

He didn’t though. Greypaw and Ravenpaw both took off after him when he went sprinting into the woods, heading towards the tunnel that Yellowfang had taken him through the first time into Shadowclan territory. As they ran, he hurriedly explained everything. As he emphasized the danger that Snowkit was in, his friends only pushed themselves to go faster and faster.

“Wait!” Ravenpaw ground to a stop, parting his lips to draw the air over his tongue. Greypaw and Firepaw halted too, doing the same. First hit Yellowfang’s stench—wickedly overpowering, yet by now warm and comforting. Beneath that, though, just a touch staler…

“That’s Shadowclan!” Greypaw hissed.

“So a Shadow did take the kits,” Ravenpaw said.

“I told you!” Firepaw exclaimed.

“But what if they’re in cahoots with each other?” Greypaw said.

He growled with exasperation. “Listen! Spottedleaf also learned from Starclan that Brokenstar is the kit killer, okay? Yellowfang is innocent!”

“Is she now?” All the fur on Firepaw’s pelt bushed out when Tigerclaw came stalking out of the brush, followed by Lizardtail, Dustpelt, and Darkstripe.

“Tigerclaw!” Greypaw gasped. “What are you doing here?”

Tigerclaw ignored him. “Alright, ‘paw, enough’s enough. I understand you want to play hero, and that’s noble of you, but keeping secrets from the clan is not going to look good on you. Go back to camp now, and I won’t tell Bluestar that you knew Yellowfang ran.”

“Tigerclaw, you don’t understand, she ran to help the kits!” he said. “Yellowfang’s done nothing but help us—”

“To incur favour,” he said.

“You’re too trusting,” Lizardtail piped up. “But I guess that’s to be expected.”

Firepaw began to growl. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“It’s _means_ that kittypets will let humans pick them up and pet them and do whatever they want to them,” he retorted. “So why should we be surprised that you can’t tell whether or not something’s a threat?”

“Lizardtail,” Tigerclaw cautioned. “He’s young. He didn’t grow up knowing what we know about the other clans. Cut him some slack.” To Firepaw, he said, “Take your friends and go back to camp. We’ll bring back the kittens.”

“And Yellowfang? Will you bring her back?”

“Her body, perhaps,” he growled.

Numb, Firepaw stood back as the warrior led his patrol past them and towards the Shadowclan border. He didn’t know what to do.

“Firepaw?” Ravenpaw prompted. “Do you want to go back to camp?”

“No,” he said instinctively. “He doesn’t understand. I know Yellowfang. If she was really what everyone thinks of her…she needs at least someone to believe in her. After all, you two believed in me. Redtail believed in me.”

He stood up. “I’m still going, but if you two want to go back, it’s okay.”

“N-No, I’m with you,” Ravenpaw stammered, leaping to his feet.

“Yeah, me too,” Greypaw said. “I can’t trust a Shadow, but I do trust you, Firepaw. Lead the way.”

Thrilled and warmed, Firepaw nodded and took off into the brush, avoiding Tigerclaw’s patrol and circling around to the under-road tunnel. As well hidden as it was, he hoped Tigerclaw wouldn’t bother with it and simply cross over the road, wasting precious moments picking up the scent on the other side.

He stopped at the end of the tunnel to catch his breath and scent the air, both for Yellowfang and for possible Shadow patrols.

“What if we get caught by Shadowclan?” Ravenpaw whispered into his ear.

Greypaw on his other side began tearing the grass with his claws. “Then we tear them apart.”

“No, we run home,” Firepaw said. “We can’t take them, and if Tigerclaw finds us, then we’re _really_ in for it.”

“Wait,” Ravenpaw said before he could move on. “If we get caught, then Firepaw I think you should keep going and Greypaw and I will lead them away.”

He blinked at his friend. “That’s really brave of you, Ravenpaw. Thank you.”

“Hey, you didn’t ask me,” Greypaw said indignantly.

“What are you going to do? Turn around and fight them? Find Yellowfang yourself?” Ravenpaw retorted. “Even if I wanted to fight, we’d be completely outnumbered by a patrol.”

Greypaw snorted, but muttered a reluctant agreement nonetheless. That settled, Firepaw led them into Shadowclan territory.

The first time he’d been here with Yellowfang, it’d still been summer and the ground had been soggy, but not too bad. Now with the autumn rains, they ended up slogging through mud and pools of water, just barely keeping to Yellowfang’s scent as they moved deeper and deeper into the marshland.

He finally understood what Yellowfang meant about hunting in Shadow territory being nothing like hunting in Thunder territory. Not only was it hard to track, but cover was limited to dying marsh grasses and the occasional copse of trees. Without their dark pelts, he was sure it would be nearly impossible for Shadowclan to hunt during sparser seasons, even with the shield of night on their side.

And still the trail led them deeper and deeper.

Until they came to a patch of dry ground, a place where they could stop and lick the water out from beneath their toes. Firepaw had his nose to the ground, though. Yellowfang’s smell was stronger than ever, but he only ended up going in circles around the tree.

The realization hit him like a car and he looked up. Vivid orange eyes stared back.

“Took you long enough, ‘paw,” she said, though her whiskers twitched with amusement.

“Yellowfang!” he whisper-yelled. “I’m glad we found you before Tigerclaw did.”

She descended from the tree, eyes narrowed. “I’m surprised Bluestar didn’t come herself.”

“No? Why?”

“Control freak,” she muttered. “I know who took the kittens.”

“You do?!” Greypaw said, head bursting from the nearby reeds. Ravenpaw shushed him loudly from behind.

“It’s a wonder you lot didn’t get caught,” Yellowfang growled. “Why would you bring _Greypaw_ into Shadow territory?”

“Hey.”

“Redtail told me to bring him and Ravenpaw,” Firepaw admitted.

“Redtail knows?”

“Kinda. He knew I was lying when I told him you were probably just out getting herbs. Tigerclaw overheard me talking to Greypaw and Ravenpaw though and…” He shook his head. “I don’t know what his problem is. He wouldn’t believe me.”

“I’m not surprised,” she said. “You’re a true one of a kind, ‘paw. No other cat would believe me.”

He flattened his ears. “Yeah because I’m a house cat and I’m too trusting.”

He yelped when she cuffed him across the head. “You’re openminded, not trusting. You’ve got good instincts.”

“You’re just saying that because he believes you,” Greypaw said.

“I mean, isn’t Firepaw right about her?” Ravenpaw pointed out.

“Shut your mouths and listen up,” Yellowfang said, causing all three toms to straighten immediately. “Those kits aren’t safe with Brokenstar. He—”

“If he finds out about Snowkit, he’ll kill him first,” he finished.

“Yes,” she growled. “Brokenstar wants to turn Shadowclan into a military—to that end, he’s thrown out any cat who either can’t fight, can’t fight _well enough_ , or produce kittens that can fight. He began apprenticing kittens at five moons, then four, then three, and because of his group of _bodyguards_ there isn’t a single cat in the clan who will oppose him.

“Brokenstar didn’t just kill the kittens for his own sick pleasure,” she continued darkly. “He sent them into battle or up against a fox or pitted them against their mentors in claws out affairs. And what did he say when they succumbed to their wounds or were torn apart by dogs?

“’They were weak.’”

Firepaw stared at her, at a loss for words. It seemed one thing to paint Brokenstar as a mindless, kit killing monster. Another entirely to see how he manipulated his own clan and excused away the deaths of kittens barely old enough to leave their mother’s belly. Even Ravenpaw and Greypaw, as used to clan hardship as they were, sat in stunned silence.

Satisfied that she had their attention, Yellowfang added: “And when he runs out of kits, he steals them. From rogues, from town cats—from other clans.”

“That’s why he took Frostfur’s…” Ravenpaw whispered, staring at the ground in horror. “A-and Windclan’s—! To turn them into…”

“And if you want further proof that I wasn’t involved, here,” Yellowfang said, holding out a paw. A few tufts of strong smelling fur stuck out from between her claws. It was brown and white. “Tangleburr’s fur. She and Clawedface worked together to take the kits, but if we want them back, then it will mean war.”

“But we can’t take on Shadowclan by ourselves,” Firepaw said. “Even if we got the rest of Thunderclan…”

“Shadowclan isn’t as strong as you think,” Yellowfang said. “Brokenstar has an inner circle of strong warriors that maintain status quo. Everyone else? Can be turned. _Will_ be turned, once I’m done with them.”

“So…what do we do?” Firepaw asked.

“Ravenpaw will run to Windclan,” she said. “Tell them who took your kits, and that it was the same cats who took theirs.” She held out her paw for him to take a tuft of fur before he disappeared into the reeds. “Firepaw, go back to Thunderclan and tell Bluestar. Greypaw will stay with me. Haul your ass into that tree and keep a look out for me—I’m going to teach you how to do a fox bark.”

Firepaw took the last tuft of fur in her claws and met her gaze. With a single nod, he took off back in the direction of Thunderclan.


	30. Chapter 27

Firepaw flattened his ears beneath the hard gazes of not just Bluestar and Redtail, but of the other senior warriors invited by Bluestar: Whitestorm, Fuzzypelt, and Speckletail. He’d just told his story. The tuft of fur Yellowfang had given him lay on the floor of Bluestar’s den between them, unsniffed.

At least until Redtail stretched forward until his nose nearly touched it. “Definitely Shadowclan,” he said. “Tangleburr, I think.”

“She could be working _with_ Shadowclan,” Speckletail growled. “That’s not proof.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” Redtail protested. “Ravenpaw was sent to Windclan. Shadowclan wouldn’t bring two clans down on them at once. Even they don’t have the numbers to contest that.”

“And if what Yellowfang says about the rest of the clan being willing to turn…” Whitestorm murmured.

“I trust Firepaw,” Fuzzypelt said. “But we could also ask Newtspeck and Nightpelt.”

The gathered cats fell quiet, looking to Bluestar. Her eyes fixed on the tuft of fur, she too leaned forward to give it a sniff. Then looked directly at Firepaw.

“I believe you,” she said, “but what made you think it was alright to go into Shadowclan territory to find Yellowfang?”

“Because I knew she was innocent,” he said, forcing calm into his voice even as Bluestar’s frigid gaze split him in two. “I was afraid that you wouldn’t give her the chance to explain herself or that Tigerclaw…”

He trailed off abruptly as Bluestar’s eyes sharpened. As quickly as that half-mad look had crossed her expression, though, she blinked and it was gone. He must have imagined it.

“If Windclan is attacking, then we should not leave them to go alone,” she said. “Brokenstar has broken the warrior code, stolen our kittens, attempted to steal our territory, and if we delay? Will kill Snowkit, just like Firepaw said. Left alone, the problem will do nothing but fester like an old wound. Fuzzypelt, find Sandstorm and Goldenflower with their patrols and send them to Shadowclan territory—they will be our second wave.”

“Should we send a messenger to Riverclan for aid as well?” Redtail asked as the black tom whisked out of the den.

Her tail lashed once. “I want nothing to do with the Rivers. Our numbers will be enough without them.”

“Agreed. I’ll tell the clan, then.”

“No, you will sit and let me tell the clan,” she retorted.

She stalked out of the den with Speckletail and Whitestorm, leaving Redtail to glare after her, tail tip twitching. When his gaze met Firepaw’s, though, he relaxed.

“You did good, ‘paw,” he assured. “Are you ready for battle?”

He flexed his claws. “More than ready, Redtail.”

Once Bluestar rallied the clan, they set out. Though Newtspeck stayed behind on account of her illness, Nightpelt joined them, walking astride with Thunderclan warriors like a tom fresh out of the apprentice den.

As they entered Shadowclan territory, a blast of wind hit with the smells of Windclan, guaranteeing their help for the coming battle. Firepaw felt nothing but indignant rage, though. Rage at the kittens who’d died, the cats who’d been driven away from their home, and the defamation of Yellowfang’s name.

“Greypaw and Yellowfang are over here!” he said, leading the group over to the tree.

But Yellowfang was nowhere to be seen. Only Greypaw was there, his paws tucked beneath him and his ears pricked and swiveled to face the Shadowclan camp. He scrambled to his feet as Bluestar walked over to him.

“Where’s Yellowfang?” she demanded.

“She went down to the camp,” he said, a flicker of worry crossing his features. “She said to go in as soon as you arrive and that she’s going to try to rally the rest of Shadowclan.”

All of Firepaw’s fur bushed out. “Is she insane?!”

“Do you want a serious answer or…?”

“Then we have no time to waste,” Bluestar said. “Thunderclan! Onwards!”

She sprang forward, launching from the steady jog of the journey to a full on sprint towards Shadowclan camp. Firepaw and the rest of Thunderclan streamed after her. Pumping his legs as hard as he could, he kept pace with Bluestar, wanting to be the first to make sure that Yellowfang was okay.

When they came to the tiny ridge overlooking the camp, Yellowfang looked anything but okay. She and Blackfoot circled each other, surrounded by Brokenstar’s inner circle. Brokenstar himself lounged on his back on a stone ledge above what Firepaw assumed was the leader’s den, but scrambled to his feet, tail lashing, as Blackfoot and Yellowfang finally collided in a ball of fur, claws, and shrieking.

“Attack!” Bluestar yowled, springing down onto the back of the nearest warrior.

Firepaw sprang after her as the clearing exploded into chaos, immediately losing sight of Yellowfang. He had bigger mice to catch, though, when a molly lunged from the writhing mass of cats and met him head on. He rose up to catch her and together they fell, hissing and spitting and clawing for the upper hand.

In the time it took to shove her off of him, new battle cries joined the cacophony in the camp. Windclan warriors came pouring into the hollow, flinging themselves onto Shadowclan warriors.

Not all of Shadowclan fought, though. Firepaw could see gaunt faces and haunted eyes gazing from the brush around the edges of the clearing. Cats holding back kits (and rather small looking apprentices) and skeletal warriors fighting Brokenstar’s much larger, much healthier batch of hench cats.

Avoiding the looks of Shadow warriors, Firepaw slunk to the edge of the clearing, away from the fighting. He nearly ran face first into Ravenpaw’s tail, failing to spot his black fur on the shadowy fringe.

Ravenpaw yelped, but his bristling fur immediately began to smooth out. “Firepaw, you’re okay!”

He passed a cursory lick over a nasty scratch on one shoulder. “More or less. Let’s find Frostfur’s kittens and get them out of here.”

“I was already doing that. I’ve got their scent. No kitblood, thankfully.”

“Great, you lead.”

They prowled around the edge of the clearing until they came to a den that smelled of milk and down. The smell of Thunderclan kittens wafted from the entrance.

Exchanging a look with Ravenpaw, Firepaw approached first. “Brightkit! Brackenkit! Are you in there?!” he hissed, trying not to alert the fighting warriors.

A growl came in response. Shooting a look at Ravenpaw, Firepaw unsheathed his claws and shouldered his way inside.

Even with his night sight, the branches of the Shadowclan nursery were so tightly woven that moonlight couldn’t possibly get in. Whoever was inside growled louder and louder at him, now over the sound of crying kittens.

“I’m here for Thunderclan’s kittens,” he growled, tail lashing.

The growl turned into a snarl. “Then you’ll fight me for them!”

The molly tackled him so hard that he fell backwards out of the nursery. She was tiny—Shadowclan born and raised—but stronger than she looked, her hindlegs churning against his pale orange belly and strewing his fur across the grass. He clocked her across the head to send her sprawling and turned to Ravenpaw.

“Get the kittens!” he ordered. “I’ll handle her!”

A spark of guilt splashed across Ravenpaw’s eyes, but he nodded confidently and hurried into the nursery.

“Those are our kits!” the molly snarled.

Firepaw intercepted her when she tried to spring after Ravenpaw, but he was outmatched and this molly was feral and furious. Taking his ear in her jaws, she shoved his face into the dirt. He scrambled against the dirt, but only in vain. When she put her full weight on him and pressed harder yet to free up a paw, his struggles became desperate.

She was reaching for her knife. Of course she wouldn’t care about the Warrior Code. Of course she wouldn’t care about killing. Her leader had murdered kittens, and she’d followed him nonetheless.

But instead of plunging her knife into him, she dragged him up against her chest to face Ravenpaw when as he re-emerged, kittens in tow. The black tom froze, eyes wide and watery as they met Firepaw’s.

“Send those kittens back in or I slit his throat,” she snarled.

“Don’t!” Firepaw croaked. He grabbed at her wrist, trying to get a grip that wouldn’t dig the tip deeper into his exposed throat. “She’ll do it anyways!”

Ravenpaw remained frozen, even as Firepaw silently begged his friend to take the kittens and run. As the molly’s temper grew short, the knife point dug deeper and deeper.

All at once, the pressure disappeared. As the molly’s shriek of surprise was muffled, Firepaw landed on his feet and whirled around in time as Tigerclaw took nearly her entire head into his jaws and slammed her into the ground. Her knife skidded harmless across the ground as he pulled her up and slammed her down again, this time with an audible crack.

For a single horrifying moment, he was certain he’d killed her. For a single moment, he wondered if this was how Spottedleaf had died, Tigerclaw’s jaws muffling her cries while his tremendous size made quick work of her.

But when Tigerclaw loosened his grip, the molly animated. She didn’t fight back, though, wisely scrambling to her feet and limping away as fast as her broken body could take her.

A wave of relief hit Firepaw so powerfully that he sat down, trembling with a combination of relief, exhaustion, and the last vestiges of terror. The moment Tigerclaw turned to him, though, he sat bolt upright, ready for him to speak.

“Take Ravenpaw and the kittens and get out of the way of the battle,” he growled. “Their safety is our priority.”

“But what about Yellowfang?” he couldn’t help but blurt out.

“I think she’s fine,” he retorted.

He moved to the side, revealing the middle of the clearing where Yellowfang was locked in screaming combat with none other than Brokenstar himself. Firepaw had never seen her so angry, tearing up clumps of fur and battering the tom while he wailed for mercy.

She’d soaked the ground in his blood, and as she raised her knife over him, Firepaw quickly turned away.

“Let’s get them back to that tree,” he said to Ravenpaw, scooping up Brightkit and Brackenkit in his arms.


	31. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter tomorrow :3c I'll be sure to have some announcements about the next part of the rewrite at the end of tomorrow's chapter, but if i forget do yell at me so i can edit it and add it in lmfao

They got the kittens to the tree, but Firepaw wasn’t ready to quit the battle. His wounds stung, but he wanted justice for Yellowfang and justice for all the kit blood on Brokenstar’s paws.

As he launched himself back into the clearing, though, much of the fighting had ceased. Brokenstar and his inner circle had been pushed up against the far corner of the camp, staring down Breezestar, Bluestar, Nightpelt, and a furious Yellowfang.

“Tell them who really killed those kittens, Brokenstar,” Yellowfang snarled. “Tell all of them how much blood is on your paws.”

Brokenstar hissed at her. His throat had been ravaged, pouring his blood onto the dirt between his paws in a steady trickle. Firepaw wasn’t even sure how he was still alive after Yellowfang had pulled out her knife, nine lives or not. 

“They were weak,” he gurgled. “And Shadowclan needed strength. Look at how strong we became! How strong we could have been if you’d just turned a blind eye, you stupid hag!”

“If that’s what you really thought, then you wouldn’t have bothered framing me!” she retorted. “You knew it was wrong—you killed them for your own happy little power trip.”

She stalked forward, tail lashing. “Well I’m about to end that power trip—permanently.”

She lunged for Brokenstar again, only to be intercepted by a dark brown tom. She backed off, hissing.

“Clawedface, what are you doing?!” a Shadowclan molly exclaimed. “He killed kittens!”

Clawedface didn’t meet her gaze. “I stole those kittens. I’m sorry, Deerfoot, but my loyalty lies with Brokenstar.”

“We’ll settle this now.” Nightpelt stepped forward, looking like a tom half his age as he faced Brokenstar and his rogues. “Make your choice now—Brokenstar, or the clan.”

Immediately, a tom Firepaw knew as Flintfang rushed away from the inner circle, meeting a molly with a desperate head bump and a pitiful mewl of relief. A brown molly, Applefur, and a silvery tom, Rockpelt, hurried away as well.

Deerfoot stepped closer, searching the faces of the remaining cats. “Well, Stumptail?” she said, though her voice was more cold than it was pleading. “Clawedface made his decision. What about you? Would you rather your precious leader, or our kits? And Tangleburr—I’m your sister, does my word mean nothing?”

Tangleburr looked away sharply and Stumptail flattened his ears. “It’s his divine right to lead, Deerfoot.”

She sniffed. “No, you’re just too prideful to admit that you were wrong. I’m sorry it ended this way. At least you and Clawedface will have each other.”

And with that, she turned and disappeared into the crowd.

“Anymore takers?” Nightpelt asked. “Blackfoot? Russetfur? Is this what you really joined our clan for?”

Blackfoot raised his chin. “It’s his divine right. Starclan gave him his nine lives—who are we to contest that?”

Russetfur glanced at him. “Right.”

“Very well.” Nightpelt stepped back.

The molly that had been defending the nursery stepped forward, though. “What? No pleas for me?” she sneered. “Not even from my own children?”

Yellowfang snorted. “You were always a bitch, Lizardstripe. You’ve never been wanted.”

Lizardstripe lashed her tail, but said nothing.

“You can’t do this,” Brokenstar stammered. “They’re right. I have the divine right to lead! I died in front of you—I died to Yellowfang twice! I have Starclan’s blessing, so how dare you oust me?!”

A murmur of unease rippled through the crowd. Brokenstar stepped forward, taking up that uncertainty with confidence.

“Tell them, Runningnose!” he exclaimed. “You were there for the ceremony. My own mother gave me a life!”

This time shock and anger met his proclamation, followed swiftly by Runningnose—or rather Cloudpelt—saying: “The ceremony is sacred, Brokenstar!”

“Damn the sanctity if mortal cats think they can challenge Starclan!” he bellowed. “Tell them, Runningnose! Tell them that Raggedstar was there!”

All eyes fell to Cloudpelt, who shrank away. His eyes searched the crowd, and for a moment Firepaw wasn’t sure what he was looking for. But then the young healer’s eyes met Yellowfang’s. He rose to his full height.

“Raggedstar was there,” he said, voice tremoring but nonetheless ringing across the silent clearing. “And she gave you a life—but not without telling you that murder is no way to rise to power.”

The crowd swung again, once more against Brokenstar, who backed away with wide eyes. “What?! You’re accusing me of killing my own _mother?!”_

“Enough!” Nightpelt bellowed. “Your divinity was a fluke, Brokenstar! You never should have been given your lives—and now it’s our duty to rip them from you!”

The crowd surged forward. Brokenstar wasn’t stupid, though. He turned tail and ran, his crooked tail firmly between his legs as the combined clans took up the chase.

Firepaw sprang after them too, energized by a righteous fury that fueled every cat around him as they chased Brokenstar and his gang across the territory. The road was coming up fast, though, and he feared that they would lose the murderer on the other side.

They weren’t so unfortunate—not this time.

Brokenstar barrelled onto the road without looking. Didn’t see the lights. Didn’t hear the roar of the truck. By now at the front of the pack, Firepaw saw yellow lights of the truck briefly halo the fleeing tom, followed by a rush of wind and deafening silence.

The rest of Brokenstar’s cats hared across the now quiet road, leaving the combined clans to gather at its edge, warily watching the battered body.

Yellowfang was the first cat brave enough to walk out onto the toxic black surface and place a paw on what remained of Brokenstar. She was still for a moment, almost as still as the pile of fur, blood, and bones in front of her. Finally, she raised her head.

“He’s dead,” she announced. “Either the truck was enough to rip away the rest of his lives…

“…or Starclan saw fit to rid him of them for us.”


	32. Chapter 29

After dragging Brokenstar’s body back to Shadowclan’s camp, the healers (Yellowfang, Cloudpelt, and Barkface) moved around checking injuries and patching everyone up, regardless of clan or allegiance.

While Firepaw was licking the worst of his wounds, Yellowfang walked up to him. “Looks like you got a nasty bite on that ear of yours, paw.”

He reached up to touch it gingerly. “Lizardstripe grabbed me while I was trying to get the kittens out of the nursery.”

“After all that I told you about ears.” She took his face in both paws and pulled his head down to take a closer look at it. “I could finish the job and you’d never have to worry about a cat grabbing your ears again.”

“N-no, I like my ears.”

She cackled at him and finished patching him up. He sat in silence, grimacing whenever she disturbed his wounds. She was surprisingly gentle, though. As good a healer as she was a warrior, he thought.

“What’s going to happen now?” he asked once she finished.

“A little damn normalcy, I hope,” she grumbled.

“No, I mean what are you going to do. Are you going home?”

She paused, staring around the camp at the cats who were her former clanmates. At Cloudpelt as he moved among them, a precisioned healer himself despite his flaky will. At Nightpelt, who was sitting on a nearby rock and giving out commands to the able warriors that remained.

“Yes,” she said. “When Thunderclan leaves, I’m going home with them. _If,”_ she added, seeing him perk up, “Bluestar allows it. It seems like the Thunders need me more anyways after your pretty little healer was killed.”

He winced—as he always did when someone brought up Spottedleaf—but nonetheless sighed with relief. “I’m glad. I think you really belong in Thunderclan.”

She snorted. “You just like not being the only outsider.”

“Yeah? And so what if I do?” he retorted.

“You can do better than making friends with a hag.”

“You can do better than making friends with a naughty ‘paw.”

She cackled again, delighted by his bite. “Fine, I’ll give you that.”

Goldenflower trotted up. “Yellowfang, can you come see to Thornkit? He has a cut and it seems bad.”

“Are the kittens okay otherwise?” Firepaw asked.

“The rest are without a scratch, just a little shaken, as you can imagine.”

“Yeah. I’m glad they aren’t hurt.” He was especially glad that Snowkit was okay.

“Alright if you’re fine, I’ll check on them,” Yellowfang said.

Firepaw settled down in the spot he was in, gazing around the camp. He marvelled at how well the clans had come together against the threat that was Brokenstar, and for a moment he wondered again why the clans needed to be separate. Could they really be _that_ different?

Many of the cats seemed alright. Most were licking their wounds or someone else’s. To his surprise, he spotted Ravenpaw sitting with Fuzzypelt, and they were even talking. Ravenpaw didn’t even seem too nervous either. He couldn’t help a stab of pride.

Then he spotted Bluestar, Breezestar, and Nightpelt off to the side, talking seriously with each other. Firepaw tried to turn his attention away. His curiosity got the better of him, however, and he crept closer to try to catch wind of what they were talking about.

“…more than capable of taking over the clan,” Nightpelt was saying. “Breezestar, you’re older than I am. I don’t think you’re in a place to tell me who is too old to take up leadership.”

Breezestar flattened his ears at the shorter tom. “Yes and I became leader at seven years, not nine.”

“It’s not our place to tell Shadowclan who to choose as their next ‘star,” Bluestar growled. “Brokenstar is gone and so is the threat to our clans. What Shadowclan does next means nothing to me.”

“Good,” Nightpelt growled. “And it shouldn’t. Shadowclan business will be ours alone now. In fact—I think you should be leaving.”

Bluestar broke away from the pair as if that was all she was waiting for. Firepaw quickly backed beneath a bush as she stalked past, making a beeline straight for Redtail.

“Wow, that’s Bluestar, huh?” Firepaw jumped when a young ‘paw beside him—he hadn’t even noticed him there—piped up. “She seems like a good leader. Way better than Brokenstar.”

“Well she let me into the clan,” he said, “so I can’t complain. It looks like Nightpelt is going to take much better care of your clan now, though.”

The apprentice, the tiniest tabby tom he’d ever seen, turned up his eyes hopefully. “I hope so. I don’t even know him, really. He left when I was still in the nursery.”

“Are you still supposed to be in the nursery?”

He shuffled his paws. “Not anymore, but close. I reached six moons a few days ago.”

“Really? You don’t look it.”

“Well that’s why I’m called Littlepaw. What’s your name?”

“Firepaw.”

“Wow, both our names really suit us, huh?” They shared a laugh. “Thanks for helping us, Firepaw. I don’t know what would have happened if the other clans hadn’t come to help. Maybe we should do that more often.”

“Yeah, maybe.” His ears perked when he heard Bluestar’s call. “I gotta go. I’ll see you at the Gathering, Littlepaw. Good luck!”

“You too, Firepaw!”

Firepaw trotted up to Redtail’s side while Bluestar gathered Thunderclan to leave. Just as they began to file out of the camp, though, Cloudpelt yelled out.

“Yellowfang!” he cried, running up to the old molly. “Yellowfang, where are you going?! Why are you leaving!”

“I’m going home,” she retorted.

Cloudpelt stared at her, blue eyes wide with shock and dismay. “What?”

“You’re a full fledged healer and have been for seasons,” she said. “Shadowclan will be perfectly fine with your care. It’s not the clan I grew up with, though—and I’m needed elsewhere.”

She flicked him across the nose with her tail as she turned away. Cloudpelt looked like he wanted to protest further, but instead he dipped his head with resignation.

“You were a good mentor, Yellowfang,” he said. “Good luck.”

Her only acknowledgement was a twitch of her tail tip before she walked through the thorn tunnel.

Thunderclan went home. Now that the adrenaline of battle had completely worn off, he felt exhausted. He wanted nothing more than to curl in his nest and sleep for a full week. No such luck, though.

“Bluestar wants to speak with you in her den,” Redtail told him. Seeing the look on his face, he added, “It shouldn’t be long, don’t worry.”

With a sigh, he headed for the hole beneath the tumble of rocks.

“Firepaw,” Bluestar greeted him with a dip of her head, “I’m proud. You held true to your morals and they paid off. It seems you have a good judgement of character.”

He perked up a bit. “Oh, thank you, Bluestar.”

“It’s a touch too early to make you a warrior but…” She eyed him studiously, a wisdom gleaming in her eyes. “I have your name in mind when that time comes.”

A thrill of excitement helped revitalize him. “Thank you, Bluestar!”

“Before you leave…” She stopped, staring intently at him. That thrill of excitement was quickly vanished. “I want to know what you think of the clan and its warriors. Of our way of life. Something has kept you here, Firepaw, and I want—no, I must know what that is.”

Put on the spot like he was, he went rigid with panic. “I…I just think it’s a good idea. I think it’s all brilliant,” he said, and meant it. “I think there’s nothing better than cats banding together to help each other survive.”

“So it’s cooperation you want.”

“Yes. I think that’s what defines us,” he said. “How we treat others and how willing we are to help those in need. I feel like I can trust nearly everyone in Thunderclan—more than I’ve ever trusted anyone before.”

He didn’t know if she liked that answer. If she even cared. But on the topic of trust, she seemed quite intrigued.

“Nearly everyone,” she said. “Are there cats in Thunderclan you don’t trust?” He didn’t respond, prompting her to add, “You can tell me, Firepaw. I told you that I respect your judgement of character, and it intrigues me to know that there are cats in my clan who you might trust less than an outsider like Yellowfang.”

He didn’t know how to tell her that part of the reason he trusted Yellowfang was _because_ she was an outsider. Maybe it was best not.

“Who do you distrust, Firepaw?” she asked, now more pointed.

“…Who do _you_ distrust?” he retorted, suddenly and passionately indignant that he was being put on the spot like this. “Because it sounds like there’s a particular answer that you want to hear.”

She blinked in surprise. “I’m the leader of this clan, Firepaw,” she said. “And the path of a clan leader is one travelled alone. I don’t trust anyone. I can’t.”

“What? Not even Redtail?”

“I think you should go back to your den,” she said. “You fought hard. Tell Ravenpaw and Greypaw that the three of you can have a free day tomorrow. I will let your mentors know.”

As thoroughly dismissed as he was, he mumbled an agreement and backed out of her den.

The camp was just about empty, save for Redtail sitting in the middle, staring at the stars. Shooting one last glance at Bluestar’s den, Firepaw padded over to sit beside him.

“Are you thinking about Spottedleaf?” he couldn’t help but ask.

Redtail didn’t as much as blink. “I’m glad she’s safe up there,” he said, “but I wish she was here. I wish things hadn’t been so strained between us—she was my littermate, but I let our relationship frost over. Now all I have left is Willowpelt.”

“Do you…” He swallowed hard. “Do you think whoever killed her was with the warriors driven out of Shadowclan?”

“I hope so,” he said. “Any cat willing to take the life of a healer…that’s beyond murder. A cat like that will never find their way to Starclan. Or at least I hope so,” he added bitterly.

“Why would they?”

“Why would Starclan give a bastard like Brokenstar nine lives?” he spat. Realizing who he was speaking to, though, he cleared his throat and looking away. “I’m sorry, Firepaw. You’re too new to Starclan for me to be shaking the legs of your faith. This is my struggle.”

“But if Starclan isn’t as good as you want them to be,” he said, “why shouldn’t you?”

“Because I don’t know,” he said, “and it’s not my place to tell you what to think about our ancestors.”

“Your ancestors.”

“Our ancestors,” he insisted. “It doesn’t matter that you’re not blood, Firepaw. You’ve proved your worth and loyalty to the clan again and again. If you want them, then they’re as much yours as they are mine.”

He blinked. “Thanks, Redtail. I don’t know about them yet but…maybe one day.”

Redtail brush his tail up along his spine. “Go sleep, Firepaw. Tomorrow comes and life plods on—the least you can do is meet it well-rested.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it! Thanks so much for reading and commenting, guys, your support has meant the world to me and...rocketed me into rewriting Fire and Ice next.
> 
> Obviously it isn't even close to done (25k is a solid fucking starting tho) but I'm going to be writing short stories about the side characters (I am an insane person who gave E V E R Y single side character a revised personality and backstory) whose stories I liked a lot but don't really have room in the rewrite itself, which you can find the collection for here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26002099/chapters/63219673
> 
> But if you wanna keep up with the progress of Fire and Ice (and some teasers about what's going to be included, such as a new POV character to go along with Fire :3c), see fanart, vote on which shorts I write next, or just see me have opinions about fake murder cats, I highly recommend following my warriors blog: https://fatal-rewrites-warriors.tumblr.com/ It's kind of a mess because I haven't gotten around to prettying it up, but right now I'm doing a liveblog of canon!Fire and Ice as ~research~ and I have some fanart of the main trio that might be done and posted later today.
> 
> And that's it for plugging. Thanks again, y'all, you've seriously motivated me to keep this rewrite going.


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